Man That You Fear
by Euphyrosine
Summary: SEQUEL TO DEFORMOGRAPHY. Bonds are tested, secrets begin to unravel, and the boys find out once and for all if three is a crowd. Nick/Greg/Hodges (and everything in between). Lots of smut and kink. WIP.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Hi guys! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing Deformography. This sequel has been a long time coming.

Set midway through season 6.

**BEFORE YOU START READING:**

Please be aware that this is a _sequel_ to Deformography, which can be found here: s/6559163/1/Deformography. There are many references to past events and situations that won't make sense if you haven't read the first story!

Story title is a Marilyn Manson song, just like the name & chapters of the first fic.

* * *

**Chapter One**

When Greg Sanders stepped into the tiny, one-room apartment behind his boss, Gil Grissom, he was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man lying face down on the floor. If not for the chalky pallor of the man's skin, he could almost be sleeping.

"Do we have an ID yet?" Grissom asked.

Super Dave, who was standing next to the body with what appeared to be the man's wallet in his hand, looked up at them as they entered. "Oh, hi guys," he said, leafing through the wallet for the man's driver's licence. "Yeah, here we go. Sidney Hobbs, forty-seven. Liver temp was eighty-two, so he's been dead at least eleven hours."

"Sure doesn't look like a crime scene in here, does it?" Greg mused, glancing around the apartment. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere—everything in the room appeared pristine. Puzzled, he turned back to David. "Any idea what COD might have been?"

The assistant coroner shook his head. "There's really no way to tell until we've done the autopsy."

"Make sure you have Henry run an expanded tox panel," said Grissom, setting down his kit and wandering into the kitchen. "A forty-seven year old man doesn't just keel over dead without some kind of help."

"You think he could have overdosed on something?" Greg asked, getting out his camera. "I don't see any drug paraphernalia around here. Not even a single pill bottle."

Grissom shrugged. "For all we know, this isn't even the primary crime scene."

Firing up the camera, Greg took a few initial shots of the body in it's original position before helping David roll the victim over.

"Hmm. Slight petechia in both eyes," the coroner noted, peeking underneath the collar of the man's shirt. "Suggests possible asphyxiation, though there are no visible ligature marks on the neck." Slowly, David rose to his feet and asked, "Grissom, should I leave the body here for a while or is it okay to move him now?"

"No, go ahead and move him," the entomologist said, glancing over his shoulder. "Thanks, David."

The coroner hurried out of the apartment, returning a few moments later with a stretcher and an assistant. Together, the two men hoisted the body onto the stretcher, zipped up the body bag, and headed back outside.

"Hey Greg, come take a look at this." Curiously, Greg crossed the apartment to stand beside his boss. "Broken glass," Grissom stated, pointing into the kitchen sink. Sure enough, there were scattered glass fragments near the drain.

Bringing his camera up to eye-level, Greg snapped a few shots of the sink, making sure to get a close up of the shards.

"These pieces of glass seem like the only thing out of place in this entire apartment," Grissom observed. "I don't think someone who lives so meticulously would leave broken glass in the sink."

Greg brought the camera away from his face, casting a sidelong glance at the other man. "You think the glass could be the killer's doing?"

"If the shoe fits." Grissom turned around and headed for the front door. "I'm going to pop outside and check in with Brass. You keep processing," he instructed. "And don't forget to dust the sink for prints." With that, he slipped out the door and left Greg to his work.

It was a long couple of hours before the two of them had finally finished their examination of the apartment. Greg managed to lift a handful of decent prints from the sink, counter and fridge door handle. He'd bagged the glass shards as well as collecting several hairs and trace samples from the bed sheets.

The sun was rising high in the sky by the time he and Grissom pulled out of the apartment parking lot. Stomachs growling, they decided to stop for breakfast at a little pancake joint a few blocks away. Excited like a kid in a candy store, Greg ordered French toast while his boss opted for a stack of blueberry pancakes.

"This reminds me of what me and my dad used to do when I was little," said Greg, between bites of his food. "He'd take me and my mom out to a place like this in San Gabriel all the time."

"And how does San Gabriel French toast compare to Las Vegas French toast?" Grissom asked, stirring his coffee.

The young CSI smiled. "I think the Vegas toast wins. Although that's probably because I'm eating it right now."

Suddenly, a curious expression crossed Grissom's face. "Greg?" he said. "I think you're vibrating." Sure enough, Greg's cell phone was ringing in the pocket of his coat. Awkwardly, he fished it out with one hand, staring at the caller display. Nick's name flashed on the screen. "It's okay to get up and answer it if you want," his boss told him.

"I don't want to be rude..."

"What if it's important?" Grissom challenged. "Answer it, Greg."

Sighing, the young man slipped out of the booth. "If you insist," he said, putting the phone up to his ear and stepping outside the small diner. "What's up, Nicky?"

"See?" said an aggravated voice. "He only answers when it's _you_ calling."

Greg frowned, placing a hand on his hip. "Hodges?" he asked. "What are you doing with Nick's phone?"

There were some muffled sounds on the other end of the line that Greg couldn't quite distinguish. "He's invading my lab again," Hodges replied a moment later, sounding none too thrilled. "I thought you were going to have a talk with him about that."

"Is this seriously why you called me?" Greg let out a dramatic sigh loud enough for the other man to hear. "Talk to him yourself, David. I'm in the middle of breakfast."

Again, there were more muffled voices. All Greg could catch was Hodges complaining about Nick crowding him before the line unexpectedly went dead. Wearily, the young CSI rubbed at his forehead. Nick and Hodges butting heads was nothing new, but it still managed to exasperate him all the same.

"Everything okay?" Grissom inquired once Greg had sat back down at the table. It only dawned on the young man just then that Grissom had probably been watching him through the window the entire time.

Feeling himself flush involuntarily, Greg nodded.

"I don't expect to be privy to every detail of your life, Greg—I'm sure there are some things I wouldn't even _want_ to know," Grissom began, cracking a sardonic smile. "But if there's anything you'd like to talk about, I'm here."

Greg stared down fixedly at his French toast. He really enjoyed talking to his boss; normally he'd tell Grissom whatever was on his mind, but this was different. "Uh, thanks," he said lamely. "I appreciate it, it's just—"

Grissom held up a hand. "There's no need to explain yourself. I understand."

_That's a relief_, Greg thought to himself. He wasn't even sure where he'd been going with that statement. All he knew was that telling Grissom about his two male lovers—both of whom were also lab employees—was not a conversation Greg was ready to have with his boss.

After breakfast, it was back to the lab to log in all their evidence and wait for Doc Robbins to post Sidney Hobbs' body. After running the hairs he'd found on the bed over to DNA, Greg crossed the hall toward the trace lab, expecting to find terror and destruction in the wake of the earlier phone call he'd received. Instead, he found the opposite; the lab was calm, and Hodges was sitting at his desk like nothing had happened.

"Thanks for hanging up on me," Greg said, trying his best to sound angry. The minute Hodges turned around, however, the smile on Greg's face gave his true mood away.

"You can blame that on Nick for not charging his phone," said the trace technician. He swivelled around in his chair to face Greg, eyeing the evidence bag in the CSI's hand. "Have something for me?"

Greg smirked, leaning against the man's desk. "You know I do."

Hodges rolled his eyes. "I meant from your crime scene, Sanders. That wasn't an invitation to exchange innuendo."

"In that case, yes," Greg told him. "Glass from the kitchen sink." He held up the bag and extended it toward the trace technician. "I need to know what it's from, ASAP."

Hodges accepted the bag, peering curiously at its contents. "Hmm. I _might_ consider moving this to the top of my list... if you say the magic words."

"Which would be?"

"Hodges is the best lab tech I've ever seen and without him this place would surely fall apart."

In response, the young CSI snorted loudly. "Yeah right," he said, a sly expression on his face. "I'll teach you the _real_ magic words when we get to Nick's later."

The grey-haired man set down Greg's evidence on his desk. "As inviting as that sounds, I'm afraid I can't," Hodges stated. "Ecklie needs me to pull another double."

Greg was unable to hide his disappointment. A frown quickly spread over his face. "That's the third time this week," he complained, almost compelled to shout and stomp his feet like a child at the unfairness of the situation.

Now that Nick was back on grave, he and Greg had the same schedule again, enabling them to spend more time together. Hodges, on the other hand, had been working odd hours at Ecklie's request. The only place Greg ever saw the man anymore was at work—in a strange way, he felt like he was going through withdrawal.

Not that he would ever admit to it.

Still, Hodges was quick to take advantage of Greg's earlier comment. "Can't get enough of me, huh?" the man teased, looking far too self-satisfied. "I'm not surprised."

"Oh shut up," Greg snapped, knitting his brow. "And start processing that glass, will you? I've got an autopsy to attend."

Hodges mumbled something under his breath that sounded vaguely insulting, but Greg merely rolled his eyes at his lover and left the lab in search of Grissom.

* * *

"Alright Doc, what do we have?"

Both Greg and Grissom stared across the table at Dr. Robbins, who pulled the white sheet down to expose their victim's face and shoulders.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to give you much," the coroner told them, glancing down at the body. "No visible COD here. Hopefully tox will show something—I'm still waiting on it." With his cane, Dr. Robbins pointed at the far wall where Sidney Hobbs' x-rays were displayed. "One interesting thing I did find was a broken left collarbone. Tissue reaction suggests it was perimortem."

Grissom crossed the room to study the x-rays more closely, while Greg let his mind wander over the various scenarios that could have led to the injury. "So somehow," Greg began, "the vic suffered a broken collarbone at, or near, the time of death?"

Dr. Robbins nodded. "David mentioned that the body was found face-down. Since this type of break is consistent with a fall, I think your guy may have sustained it collapsing to the ground."

Just then, the door to the morgue swung open and Henry strolled in, a manila folder in his hands.

"Ah, good," said Dr. Robbins. "Is that our preliminary tox report?"

"Sure is—and you'll be happy to know that I've got your COD for you," Henry stated, opening the folder and handing it to Grissom.

Surprise was evident on the entomologist's face. "One-hundred and twenty milligrams of nicotine in his system," Grissom stated, a look of discovery in his eyes. "That's enough to kill even a chronic smoker."

"Well, he did have several packs of cigarettes in his nightstand, so he was probably a chain smoker," said Greg. "Even still, those levels are way too high. Do you think he was poisoned?"

Grissom closed the folder in his hands. "Looks like it."

"Nicotine poisoning would explain the slight petechia in both eyes—one of the symptoms is difficulty breathing," Dr. Robbins explained. "At the same time he would have been experiencing a headache, stomach pains, and severe heart palpitations."

"Explains why he fell," Greg stated, staring down at the body. Suddenly, an idea came to him, and he glanced up at Henry. "The effects of nicotine poisoning are instantaneous, right?"

The toxicologist nodded. "If it was injected intravenously he would have died within minutes. If he ingested it in food or drink, it would take a bit longer to reach the bloodstream, but not by much."

"That means he must have been poisoned right there in the apartment," Greg thought aloud.

"Probably by someone he knew, since there were no signs of forced entry," Grissom added. "I don't think injection was the method of choice—there are no visible needle marks on the body, and no signs of a struggle at the scene. Plus, the neighbours didn't hear anything according to Brass."

Greg crossed his arms over his chest, still staring down at the body. "I bet Sidney didn't even know he was being poisoned until it was too late."

Grissom adjusted his glasses, looking as though he were deep in thought. "Henry—after Hodges is finished with our glass, I want you to test it for liquid nicotine," he declared, pulling off his latex gloves.

"Onto something?" Greg inquired.

"I don't know yet," the man told him. "Let's go. We need to see a woman about some hairs."

Quirking an eyebrow, the young CSI followed his boss out of the morgue. Due to his silence, Greg could tell that Grissom was still deep in thought, so for once he decided not to disturb him and kept quiet until they reached Greg's old DNA lab. When they got there, Wendy—the new DNA tech—greeted them cheerfully from behind her desk.

"Before you ask, yes I'm finished with your hairs," she said, handing Grissom a sheet of paper. "Quite a few of the hairs had skin tags attached, so you guys were lucky in that respect. As you can probably guess, since it was his bed, most of them came back as a match to your victim."

That definitely piqued Greg's interest. "Most?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes. Two of the hairs didn't belong to Sidney Hobbs. Both came from the same person, who happens to be XX," Wendy told them.

"A woman?" Grissom asked, staring at the test results. "As far as we know, the victim didn't have a girlfriend."

"Oh, but it gets weirder," Wendy continued. "I tested the female hairs against the victim's, and they have four alleles in common."

Greg cast a puzzled look at his boss. "Cousin? Half-sibling maybe?" he wondered.

"There was a half-sister that found the body. I remember Brass talking to her outside the apartment."

"Well it looks like she's got some explaining to do," Greg stated, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. "I'll call Brass to bring her in."

Before Greg had the chance to dial the number, however, Grissom took him aside. "I'll call Brass. You head home, Greg. Your shift ended an hour ago, you should be out of here by now."

The Norwegian glanced up at him in alarm. "Grissom, we're right in the middle—"

"I'll keep you posted if anything comes up," the entomologist assured him. "You worked hard today, you deserve some rest."

The last thing Greg wanted to do was clock out, especially with a possible suspect coming in for questioning—even when he reminded himself that Nick was expecting him. It felt too much like giving up and letting Grissom do all the hark work; and that was a notion that didn't settle well in Greg's stomach.

"I can't just leave with this hanging over my head," Greg implored, hoping his boss would understand the feeling he was describing. "I've barely even dipped into my overtime for the month—I'll pull a double, it's no big deal."

"This isn't a request, Greg. It's an order."

Greg couldn't believe what he was hearing. When he plucked up the nerve to meet Grissom's eyes, they were positively unyielding. In response, a tense, angry knot settled in the young man's chest. Even worse, there was nothing he could do about the situation without losing his job.

"Fine," he bristled, feeling angrier than he had in a long time. Carelessly, he pushed past his boss and stalked out of the DNA lab. As he headed down the hallway, Greg could see both Grissom and Wendy watching him go, but he didn't much care. All he could think about in that moment was getting home to Nick.

* * *

Ever since the moment Greg walked through the door, Nick felt like he was caught up in an F5 tornado. Even then it was quite clear that _something_ had set the young man off. It wasn't until quite a while later, once Nick was able to calm Greg down a bit, that he squeezed the full story out of his lover.

"Grissom does that all the time, man. It's just his way of making sure everyone still has a life outside of work," Nick explained, stroking Greg's hair. After some firm insistence on Nick's part, the two of them had made themselves comfortable on the couch in his living room. The Texan was sitting up, one arm slung over the back cushions, with Greg's head resting in his lap.

"Yeah, but in the middle of a case?" Greg posed. "Has he ever done that to _you_?" The hesitation in Nick's eyes was answer enough for Greg. With a sigh, he closed his eyes. "All this time I thought I was earning his respect, but he still sees me as a little kid. What am I doing wrong?"

Nick continued running his hand through Greg's hair, observing the rhythmic rise and fall of the young man's chest as he breathed. "What makes you think you're doing anything wrong? From what I've seen, Greggo, you picked everything up even quicker than I did when I was starting out," he stated, watching his lover's eyes flutter open.

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Greg accused, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Think I'm lying? Call the Dallas Crime Lab right now and talk to my old supervisor," Nick challenged him. "I messed up evidence collection all the time when I was a newbie. The only reason I got to keep my job was because my dad convinced my supervisor not to fire me."

The look on Greg's face was pure skepticism. "There's no way you were ever less than perfect, Nicky—especially at your job. Admit it."

Nick was sure he felt his heart skip a beat. Hoping Greg wouldn't see how flattered he really was, he cracked a grin and asked, "Trying to butter me up for something?"

"No." The young CSI shook his head and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I like you better un-buttered," he said, hoisting himself into Nick's lap. As of late, it had become apparent to Greg how much his lover enjoyed having him in his lap. Especially when sex was involved.

Nick smiled knowingly, but accepted the young man into his lap all the same. He let his hands wander down the sides of Greg's torso, enjoying the way Greg seemed to shiver under the touch. "Now I _really_ think you're trying to butter me up for something," Nick told him, quirking an eyebrow.

Pouting, Greg hooked his hands around the Texan's neck. "Would that really be so terrible?"

"Depends on what you're asking me for."

Greg stared at his lover dubiously. "Yeah, like there's anything you'd say no to at this point."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The sternness in Nick's tone surprised Greg, whose hands immediately dropped from around the other man's neck.

"I just meant that you've been into everything we've done so far," Greg replied, somewhat defensively. The last thing he'd expected was for Nick to react the way he did—especially when Greg's comment had been intended as a joke. "Even the kinky stuff didn't scare you away," he continued. "I never thought I'd get to share it with anyone I actually cared about."

A loaded silence fell over the room as Nick gazed at the young man straddling his lap. "I want you to be aware, Greg," he began pensively, "that there are some things I would _never _do." He brought a hand up to the side of the Norwegian's face and cupped his cheek. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of kink, but sometimes it can go too far and that's when people get hurt."

"Trust me, Nicky. I know," Greg asserted.

The expression on Nick's face said that he was not reassured. "Do you, though?" he questioned, fixing Greg in a probing stare. "What about that time with Hodges at his place?"

Greg frowned and pulled Nick's hand away from his cheek. "Is that what this is about?" he asked. "'Cause I know you've been trying to bring that up all week."

The Texan sighed. "It's not that specifically. It's the way you always want me and Hodges to hurt you in one way or another."

"So what?" Greg challenged, determined to stand his ground. "Maybe I'm just a masochist." Playfully, he winked at Nick, but his lover clearly wasn't in the mood for jokes just then. "If you're looking for something to discuss," Greg went on, "how about picking fights? You seem awfully good at it these days."

"This isn't me picking a fight with you."

For a moment, the young CSI frowned, as if to disagree. Then, just as quickly, the frown was gone—replaced by a devious expression that Nick recognized all too well.

"So you're not mad at me?" Greg asked, shifting his weight in Nick's lap. The way he moved brought his groin flush against the older man's stomach, allowing Nick to feel how hard he was through the fabric of his jeans.

At that point, Nick was having a difficult time denying his own arousal. But really, who could blame him with a lap full of horny Greg Sanders? He'd have to be a saint not to find that enticing.

Outwardly, Nick released a brief, tense sigh. "Sometimes I'd really like to be mad at you," he admitted. "Not that you'd let me."

Excitement flickering through his eyes, Greg reached down to his waist and slipped open the button of his jeans, feeling his lover watching his every move. "I don't like conflict... when it's not sexual," he purred, slowly lowering his zipper next. Once his boxers were exposed, Greg pushed them down and extracted his cock. "Don't you want to play, Nicky?" he asked, letting his index finger wander over the head of his penis.

The young man's voice had taken on a syrupy tone that shot straight into Nick's bloodstream like adrenaline. All the Texan's worries about Greg's kinky side were instantly placed on the back burner. He could worry all he wanted at a later date—preferably when his lover wasn't propositioning him.

"Of course I do," Nick told him, raking a hand through Greg's hair. A wicked look passed through the older man's eyes. "What was it you were saying before, Greggo? Something about being a masochist?"

"Mmm, yeah," Greg breathed, grinding his hips into Nick. "I've been a bad boy. I need to be punished..."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. He wrapped his hands around Greg's waist, pulling the young man in closer. "Oh yeah? Tell me how you've been bad."

"I let..." the young man began anxiously, "I let Hodges fuck me without a condom again."

"You _what_?"

Greg stared at the older CSI hopefully. "Don't I deserve to be punished for that, Nicky?" he asked, continuing the rhythmic grinding of his hips. "I disobeyed you."

A million things were running through Nick's mind at that moment. He understood why Greg had chosen to tell him this now—he wanted Nick angry enough to do something to him. The strange part was that as much as Nick wanted to stop their little game and just ask Greg why he needed this, he also wanted to play along. The urge to give Greg what he wanted was so strong that Nick's darker side won out in the end, and he grabbed the young man by his chin.

"Turn over and lay across my legs," Nick barked, watching Greg suddenly come to life with excitement. The young man was quick to comply; he positioned himself across Nick's legs as specified. In doing such, the tip of his erection dug into his lover's thigh, serving as a reminder of how aroused he was.

In one fell swoop, Nick yanked down both Greg's jeans and boxers, leaving his bare ass exposed to the Texan's hungry eyes. "When you're begging me to stop, remember that you asked for this," warned Nick, bringing his palm down hard against Greg's backside.

A loud, startled noise escaped the young man's lips. Before he even had the chance to recover from the shock of the first blow, the second landed in the exact same spot, making him clench his jaw and writhe. After the next couple of hits, Greg's sensitive skin had begun to turn an aggravated shade of pink underneath the CSI's hand. The sight fascinated Nick as much as it aroused him.

"Harder," Greg moaned. Automatically, Nick paused in surprise. He'd expected begging of the opposite variety—not for harder blows. Nonetheless, he obliged, watching on as his lover buried his face in the couch cushions and whimpered.

After a little while, Nick's palm began to get sore. The blows were getting so hard that it was making his hand tingle. He could only imagine how much worse the pain must be for Greg. The Texan still couldn't reason out why his lover was so turned on; all he knew was that Greg's penis felt like a piece of steel jabbing his thigh.

Slowly, Nick ran his hand over the irritated skin, hearing an audible hitch in Greg's breathing. "Tell me you'll stop letting Hodges fuck you bareback or I swear to god, I'll never touch you again," Nick threatened, feeling Greg tense up immediately. "I mean it, Greg. You can't keep doing this."

The young man glanced over his shoulder nervously. "Okay," he said quietly. "I won't, Nicky. I promise."

"You'd better be serious about that, 'cause I'm not playing around."

Greg nodded soberly. In the wake of Nick's words, his arousal-filled haze had promptly lifted. Where earlier his pupils had been dilated in lust, they were now back to normal size, and the flush in his cheeks was gone.

Gently, Nick lifted his lover out of his lap, trying not to think about the disappointment that crossed Greg's face at this gesture. Rising from the couch, the Texan paced back and forth across the living room several times, trying to work off his frustration. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched an embarrassed, unsatisfied Greg tuck himself back into his jeans. He too appeared discouraged by the situation—perhaps even more so than Nick.

With a stiff, awkwardness to him, Greg stood up and grabbed his jacket off the arm of the sofa. He breezed by the other CSI without a word, only stopping at the sound of Nick's voice.

"Greg... you don't have to leave." There was a quiet, pleading quality to Nick's statement. "Stay for a little while. We'll talk about—"

"No," Greg stated, cutting him off. "I think I should go." After a mumbled _see you later_, the young man headed for the door. Nick frowned, but knew he had to let him go. When the door closed behind him, Nick was once again alone in his apartment. For the first time, however, it felt strangely empty.


	2. Chapter 2

When Greg arrived at the lab the next night for his shift, he reminded himself not to do anything stupid. He might still be angry with Grissom over their disagreement, but he couldn't let it affect his work.

Grissom, having stayed late at the lab once again, sent Greg a text message that morning updating him on the case. Their trace results from the broken glass in the sink had come back as frosted glass, used specifically in high-end dinnerware. Having looked through the cupboards at the apartment, Greg knew that the glass object, probably a small dessert plate, must have come from elsewhere.

In another text message, Grissom had also informed him that the interview with Sidney Hobbs' step-sister Karen had been a dead end. As she explained it, her hairs were left in Sidney's bed when he let her and her husband spend the night in his apartment while their house was being fumigated.

Shortly after clocking in, Greg ran into Grissom in the break room while the latter was pouring himself a coffee. Like a deer in headlights, Greg paused awkwardly in the doorway. His plan not to let his anger interfere with his work took an unexpected nosedive when he and his boss met eyes. All the hurt and rejection he'd felt the previous day came rushing back all at once, making it very difficult to keep a neutral expression on his face.

The entomologist opened the fridge, pulling out a small carton of cream. "Greg," he said pleasantly, pouring a dash of cream into his coffee and replacing it in the fridge. "I was just setting up in the layout room."

All Greg managed in response was a curt nod. His mouth didn't seem to be operating just then.

"We need to go over our evidence. There's something we're missing," Grissom continued, heading past the young man and out of the room. Silently, Greg followed his boss down the hallway and into the layout room, where their crime scene photos from Sidney Hobbs' apartment were spread out across the table.

The Norwegian cleared his throat awkwardly. "What are we looking for?" he asked.

"Anything that seems out of place," Grissom told him, staring down at the photographs. "Something that could possibly link us to the killer."

Nodding, Greg joined him in examination of the photos. Just like the first time he'd seen the place, Sidney Hobbs' apartment was all white walls and minimal furniture. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found anywhere, let alone clutter or mess. The guy was certainly a neat freak if Greg ever saw one. The possibility of finding _anything_ out of place seemed rather unlikely.

Grissom seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "Look at the way his movie collection is organized," he said, pointing to a photo of one of the living room shelves. Sure enough, Sidney's movies were organized alphabetically, starting with _American History X _on one side, and ending with _Zoolander_ on the other.

"Well, the guy sure was meticulous, I'll give him that." Greg let his gaze wander to another of the living room photos. This one was of a tall, white bookshelf filled with thick, hardcover encyclopaedias and reference texts. "His bookshelf is organized the same way," Greg pointed out, his eyes roaming over the spine of each book. As he was scanning the row of encyclopaedias, he suddenly paused in confusion. Between volumes E and F sat a short, thin book with a plain black spine. As far as Greg could tell, it wasn't something Sidney Hobbs would have placed there himself. It didn't look like any of the other books he owned, either.

"Grissom?" he queried, pointing to the spot on the photograph. "What do you make of that?"

The entomologist picked up the photo and examined it under the light. For a moment he merely squinted at it, a curious expression on his face. "That certainly doesn't belong," he replied, glancing up at Greg. "Good job."

"I guess this means we're going back to the crime scene?"

Grissom nodded. "Unless you'd rather work with someone else." He cast the young man a remorseful look from across the table. "I can assign you to Nick's 419 in Seven Hills if you'd prefer." Greg couldn't believe it. Was Grissom trying to get rid of him, or had he misinterpreted that offer?

It wasn't that Greg didn't want to work with his boss—he'd idolized the man for years, after all—he was just upset over being dismissed the other day. Still, even working with a Grissom he was mad at was better than working with Nick, considering all the shit that had hit the fan between them yesterday.

"No, I'd like to stay on this case," Greg insisted.

After considering this for a long moment, Grissom nodded. "Okay," he agreed. "Then let's get back to that apartment."

Half an hour later, the two of them were standing in Sidney Hobbs' living room, staring at his bookcase. The small black paperback sat in exactly the same place as in the photo—snuggled right in between the encyclopaedia volumes E and F. Carefully, Greg extracted it from the shelf and flipped it open to the first page. What he soon discovered was that it was not in fact a novel, but a daily planner—one that belonged to Sidney Hobbs. Greg glanced up at Grissom with possibility shining in his eyes. Quickly, he began flipping through the pages, intending to find out what Sidney had written down for the day of his death.

"Wait a second," he said with a frown. "Yesterday's page is missing." Greg stared down at the planner in disbelief.

"It looks like Sidney wrote everything down in this book," his boss observed. "The killer must have known about it."

"And clearly didn't want anyone to see what was written down for yesterday," Greg added, placing the planner into an evidence bag Grissom held out for him. "Maybe Mandy can get some prints off it."

"Let's hope." Setting the evidence bag down next to his kit, Grissom crossed the small apartment, pausing once he reached the kitchen. "The first time we were here, did you go through all the garbage cans?" he inquired, glancing over his shoulder.

Greg shook his head. "They were all empty. Nothing to go through."

In a heartbeat, Grissom whipped out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Brass," he said into the phone a moment later. "I need you to talk to the building manager and get a hold of all the garbage before it's collected. We've got some possible evidence in there that can't get away." Promptly, he hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "Feel like doing a bit of dumpster diving?" he asked with a smile.

* * *

"You should talk to him, okay? That's all I'm saying."

Greg rolled his eyes at Hodges and stepped into the elevator. The subject of Nick had come up during the drive home and Greg wasn't exactly eager to discuss it. In fact, after having spent all night and most of the morning digging through trash with Grissom, he wasn't exactly in the mood for anything, except a shower. On top of it all, he and Grissom's efforts had apparently been for naught. They still hadn't found the missing page from Sidney Hobbs' day planner.

"You should have seen the guy today," Hodges persisted. "He was a complete wreck." Once the elevator doors opened on Greg's floor, the trace technician followed him down the hallway. "He came into my lab, pissed as hell, and threatened to cut my dick off again," he explained, a haunted look on his face. "I thought you weren't going to tell him about the second time."

Greg sighed, fishing his keys out of his pocket. "I didn't mean to. It just sort of slipped out," he stated, turning his key in the lock and pushing the door open.

Immediately, Greg knew something was awry. The lights in his apartment were on, as was the television, and he certainly hadn't left them that way. A moment later, he heard a noise from the bedroom that sounded like the shuffling of feet. Suddenly, a figure appeared in his bedroom doorway—Greg nearly jumped clear out of his skin until he realized it was Nick.

"Jesus," he exclaimed, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. "I know I gave you a key, but some prior notice would be nice."

Nick, looking comfortable in a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, frowned. His eyes raked over the sight of Greg and Hodges arriving home together, appearing none too pleased by this development.

"I just thought we might be able to talk," Nick replied, ignoring Hodges' presence altogether. "Yesterday was a mess, Greggo. We need to sort this out."

Greg set his keys down on the kitchen counter and grabbed a beer from the fridge. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to talk about it?" he asked, studying the astonishment on his lover's face. "What's there to say, anyway? You threatened never to touch me again."

Nick's face fell. He looked as though he wanted to kick himself for having said that. "Maybe I shouldn't have used those particular words. I was just worried, Greggo."

"That's a fucking excuse and you know it," Greg snapped, taking both men by surprise. "Be a man and admit to me that you're jealous of David." Nick's jaw was practically on the floor. "After all," Greg continued spitefully, "he's been inside me—_really_ been inside me—and you haven't."

Nick's jaw clenched angrily. "What are you trying to start?"

"Greg, this is insane. What are you doing?" Hodges asked.

Before either of them had a chance to say anything else, Greg pulled Hodges in by the back of the neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. It was such an outrageous gesture given the circumstances that David immediately tried to pull away. Greg, however, kept their lips firmly pressed together, going as far as to slip his tongue inside Hodges' mouth before they were suddenly interrupted.

A fierce lick of anger, unlike anything he'd experienced before, flared up inside of Nick at the spectacle taking place before him. In a matter of seconds, he stalked over to the kitchen and tore Greg away from Hodges, slamming the young man up against the fridge hard enough to make him grunt in surprise.

"I know you want something. That's why you're doing this," Nick snarled. "Just say it Greg, I'm not in the mood for games."

The Norwegian raised his chin defiantly. "You already know what I want."

All Nick could do was stare at him for what seemed like a very long time. Eventually, he did let go of Greg, but the tension in the room was thicker than ever.

"Fine," said Nick sourly. Part of him couldn't believe he was giving in this easily, but the other part said that maybe if he finally did this for Greg, things might stop being so tense between them. The appeal of that thought was what drove Nick toward the bedroom with an astonished Greg in tow. Nick found it somewhat ironic that Greg hadn't expected him to agree.

Once they were inside the bedroom, the Texan gently pushed his lover down onto the mattress. "_This_ is how much I care about you," he explained, reaching into Greg's nightstand. He came back with only the bottle of lube; the usual condom was suspiciously absent.

The look on Greg's face was pure reverence. He remained rooted that way until Nick had finished undressing himself, at which point Greg slowly returned to reality as though he'd just woken from a dream. His eyes, glazed over with anticipation, wandered past Nick to where Hodges leaned awkwardly against the bedroom doorframe.

"You don't need an invitation, you know," Greg told him, observing the man's smirky reaction. Hodges was still a mystery to him on the best of days—but that was just part of the fun. "How about doing something productive?" Greg continued, his tone playful. "Like taking your clothes off, perhaps."

David, crossing his arms over his chest, let out a sudden snort of laughter. "That's your definition of productivity—why am I not surprised?"

Hmm. This was turning out even better than Greg thought it would. "Is that a no?" he asked curiously. "Because we can make you." The thinly-veiled challenge hung in the air between them. Surprisingly, it brought a smile to Nick's face, who now seemed to be on board with Greg's current train of thought.

"Don't be a tease, David," Nick chimed in, turning, naked as the day he was born, to face the man. Hodges was desperately trying not to stare between the Texan's legs, but ignoring the sight of the delicious half-hard cock between those strong thighs was damn near impossible. _Not_ letting his eyes rake in the sight would have meant denying he was human—with a raging libido almost as bad as Greg's—which he couldn't do.

Nick let a pleased grin spread across his lips when he noticed where the trace technician was staring.

"As you wish," Hodges finally replied, moving to unbutton his shirt. He was probably thankful, Nick realized, for being able to undress himself for once. When he and Greg did the honours, Hodges' shirts rarely made it off his body without some kind of damage, usually in the form of torn-off buttons. It was a wonder the man still hadn't learned to wear clothing that allowed for easier access.

The Texan's train of thought was abruptly deserted when Hodges' shirt fell open. David let the garment slip off his shoulders to the floor, casting a watchful glance at his audience. Nick took in the man's smooth expanse of skin with a certain familiarity that only time could cultivate. Just like with Greg, he knew every dip and contour of David's body.

Once Hodges' belt was undone and his jeans were pooled around his ankles, only his boxers separated him from complete nudity. Greg was quick to hurry him along in his efforts, which Nick enthusiastically seconded, before those too were removed and tossed off to the side with the rest of the man's discarded clothing.

"Now how about a lap dance?" Nick joked, making room on the bed for the trace technician.

"Sure, let me just grab my go-go boots," Hodges replied, shaking his head in exasperation. He hopped onto the bed beside Nick, and was caught off-guard when the Texan pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

"Please tell me you really have a pair of go-go boots," said Greg, as Nick and Hodges broke apart for air.

"Unfortunately, I don't. But I'm sure they'd be no match for your French maid outfit anyway."

Greg suddenly went beet red and glared at Nick. "You told him about that?!"

Nick nodded. "You should have seen it, Greggo. Just retelling the story got him off." Frowning, Hodges whacked Nick hard in the shoulder, but the CSI caught his wrist before the man could retreat it. "Hey, I wasn't making fun," he said. "It was hot."

Greg stared at the two of them in disbelief. "Fuck," he breathed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I guess this means I won't be burning the costume after all."

"Most certainly not. Now lie back," Nick told him, helping the young man out of his t-shirt. When Greg flopped back onto the mattress, Hodges worked open his fly and slipped both Greg's jeans and boxers off in one motion. "Aside from getting you in it again, David's also going to wear it."

Hodges paled. "Whoa, wait a minute—"

Chuckling, Greg reached up and pressed a finger to the man's lips, effectively silencing his protests. "Mmm. I'm going to second that." Hodges rocked back on his heels, an incredulous look on his face. Playfully, Greg brushed his toes against the man's leg, slowly letting his foot trail along the sensitive skin of Hodges' inner thigh. As they were, his toes were quite close to the trace technician's cock, which had begun taking an interest in the proceedings. It gave an interested twitch in the direction of Greg's foot.

With some difficulty, Nick tore his eyes away from that enticing sight and let his gaze rest instead on Hodges' face. Noticing he was being watched, Hodges glanced up and locked eyes with the Texan.

"Why don't you get Greg ready for me?" Nick suggested, handing David the bottle of lube. Nodding slowly, Hodges scooted closer to Greg, inadvertently brushing himself against the foot placed strategically between his thighs.

Greg made a low noise in his throat at the warmth of Hodges' skin touching his. With a mischievous look in his eyes, the young man began moving his foot back and forth, using his toes to caress the engorged head of the man's cock. In response, Hodges seized the CSI's legs and thrust them roughly apart.

It wasn't long before Greg turned to putty in David's hands. Even Nick had to admit that there was something ridiculously primal about a dominant Hodges. It was so much the opposite of his usual personality that it almost felt taboo watching him slick his fingers and press them inside a squirming Greg. The trace technician made quick work of preparing their young lover, drawing out a series of breathy moans from him in the process. Nick knew exactly when Hodges had found the young man's prostate by the way Greg's mouth fell open and he clutched at David's arms. It was a beautiful thing to watch; not only for Greg's reactions—which never ceased to stimulate—but also for the look of total aphrodisia on Hodges' face. His cock, glaringly erect against his stomach, was impossible not to fixate on. Artfully, Nick wrapped his hand around it, grinning when Hodges startled at his touch.

"Is he tight?" Nick inquired, licking his lips. His own cock seemed to harden further even as he spoke the words.

Hodges gave a desperate nod. Before removing his fingers, he gave Greg's sweet spot one last tweak, making the young man hiss in pleasure. "He's ready for you."

Once Nick and Hodges traded positions, the Texan raked in the sight of Greg spread out before him, flushed and trembling. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail over the pale flesh of Greg's hips, drinking in his lover's shiver of anticipation. "This is it, Greggo," Nick announced. "What you've wanted all this time..."

"Then stop the monologue and fuck me already!" Greg barked, bucking his hips desperately. "I need this so badly, Nicky..."

"Mouthy today," Nick replied, sliding closer between Greg's thighs. Abruptly, he wrapped his hand around the young man's cock, squeezing tightly enough to make Greg whimper and writhe against the sheets. "You'd better hope you make it through this in one piece, 'cause I'm not taking it easy on you."

For a moment, something akin to alarm settled on Greg's face—but he didn't have much time to dwell on Nick's words before the man entered him roughly.

"_Fuck!_" Greg yelled, clenching his teeth in pain. To his right, Hodges was staring at them, still shamelessly hard, with carnal appetite written all over his face. Before Greg realized what the man was doing, Hodges positioned himself behind Nick, pressing himself up against the CSI.

If that wasn't pushing Nick's boundaries, Greg didn't know what was. The expression on Nick's face said it all—his eyes flew open in surprise and he froze partway inside of Greg. "Hodges," he snapped, "w-what are you doing?"

Rather than answering him outright, David slid a hand around Nick's waist and softly pressed his lips against the Texan's neck. "Relax," he whispered, just loud enough for Greg to hear. "Don't you trust me?"

Nick's distress was clear. He frowned, but refused to turn and look at the man behind him. "Not when you're doing that," he said, referring to the slow, rhythmic thrusts of Hodges' hips, which, each time, brought the man's cock flush against Nick's ass.

"I promise you, this is as far as it goes," David pledged, trailing feather-light kisses over Nick's shoulder. His tone was sincere. "Don't leave Greg hanging... he wants you."

Amazingly, Nick not only let the issue drop, but actually listened to Hodges for once. He refocused his attention on Greg, who was staring up at him with a fascinated look in his eyes. Deciding he would very much like to wipe that expression off his lover's face, Nick buried himself completely inside of Greg in one fell swoop.

He realized, somewhat belatedly, that Greg must be in pain—his eyes were screwed shut and his hands clutched desperately at the bed sheets, as if to anchor himself to something. The oddest part of all was the way his hips bucked toward Nick, like he was asking for more.

Even though Nick had no intention of taking it easy on Greg, what he was experiencing put him in real danger of losing all restraint. It was much easier for him to understand now why Greg had hungered for this. Every sensation, every physical response, was that much more _real_. Every time Greg moved or squirmed—even the smallest bit—it sent a jolt of white-hot pleasure through Nick's cock, making the hair on his skin stand on end and his pelvic muscles contract wildly.

When he began thrusting, his slow, steady rhythm didn't last for long before it was replaced by a faster, more erratic pace. It was too difficult to keep control when his body was screaming at him to fuck Greg as deep and as hard as he could. There was no way Nick could resist that calling, especially when Greg was moaning _harder, Nicky _and _faster_ at him.

Hodges, still behind him, had taken up the interesting pursuit of exploring Nick's body with his hands, pausing every once in a while to pinch at a nipple or kiss a particularly ticklish patch of skin. The attention felt good, better than Nick wanted to admit—so did the gentle grind of Hodges' erection against his backside, which was bringing an involuntary blush to the Texan's cheeks.

"Don't stop," Nick pleaded, to the surprise of both his lovers.

A shocked and awed Hodges held him tightly around the waist, bringing their bodies even closer as Nick continued thrusting. "I won't," said Hodges, casting Greg a mystified look over the man's shoulder.

Nick's heart was beating a mile a minute. Every nerve ending in his body felt like it was on fire. "Greg," he breathed, reaching down to fist the young man's swollen penis. "I want you to come."

"Ohh, fuck..." Greg whimpered, arching his back and pushing himself further onto Nick's cock. "I will if you keep talking like that."

Knowingly, Nick reached down and placed his hand over Greg's throat—gentle enough not to really hurt him, but with just enough pressure to get his point across. He could feel the soft flutter of Greg's pulse under his fingertips. "Hear that, David? Greg wants to play dirty."

Hodges was absolutely transfixed by the sight of Greg held down by the throat. "That's because he's a little cocktease," the trace technician growled, thrusting hard against Nick. "I think you should make him come all over himself, Nick..."

Both Nick and Greg moaned at the same time, making Hodges dizzy with arousal. He was impossibly hard; he wouldn't be able to hold out much longer if they kept this up.

The combination of Nick's thrusts, perfectly aimed to brush Greg's prostate, and the direct stimulation on his cock was too much for Greg. He howled, red-faced and panting, as his climax hit, squirming and arching his back in a display that was both visceral and beautiful.

That was it for Hodges. He came right after Greg, forehead pressed against Nick's spine, clutching his hips hard enough to bruise. The evidence of his gratification was plastered over Nick's lower back, sticky and wet, dripping down between the cleft of his ass. David couldn't stop staring at it, like he'd just discovered the holy grail of sex acts and couldn't believe Nick had willingly participated.

Speaking of Nick, his thrusts continued, deep but laboured, for a few moments longer. He let his eyes fall shut, savouring the feeling of _truly_ being inside Greg—in a way that he'd never been with anyone else—before sucking in a sharp breath and opening them again.

He was close, _so close_, and he could already feel the sparks pooling in his belly. When a series of strong shudders began to rack his body, he pulled out; just in time for what he could only describe as the strongest orgasm of his life. A grating moan, like nothing he'd ever heard come out of his own mouth before, echoed through the room as he ejaculated in several violent bursts. If not for Hodges' keeping him steady through it all, Nick was sure he would have collapsed on top of Greg.

"Easy..." Hodges whispered in his ear. "You okay?" Shakily, Nick nodded, blinking at the sight in front of him.

Not only was Greg still spread out enticingly, covered in his own come—he now had Nick's all over his stomach and groin. The young CSI threw his head back in a silent laugh. "I must be the picture of innocence right now," he joked, trailing a finger through the sticky mess. Coyly, he brought the finger up to his lips and popped it into his mouth.

"You are," Hodges told him honestly. He rose from the bed so that Nick had room to flop down on his back, and watched the man fight to catch his breath. He hadn't noticed that the finger had fallen from Greg's lips.

He made a startled noise when Greg grabbed him by the wrist and flung him down on the bed. Greg didn't say anything at first; he merely crawled on top of Hodges and pressed their lips together.

The kiss quickly grew heated. David took control, flipping the two of them over so that he was on top. "Remind me to compliment you more if that's the reaction I get," he said, nipping playfully at Greg's earlobe.

"You're getting come all over you," Greg pointed out, gesturing to their lower bodies, pressed tightly together.

"Maybe I felt left out."

Greg laughed, as did Nick, who was breathing normally again. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, casting Hodges a sly look. "We could have easily remedied that, you know."

"We still can, actually," Greg added with a wink. Unexpectedly, he rolled his hips up into David's, drawing a sharp breath from the trace technician. "You can suck me off if you like, darling," he whispered in the man's ear.

Hodges grabbed him by the chin, turning his face to the side. "So much for your refractory period," he said, already feeling Greg getting hard again. "Slut."

"Kiss-ass."

"Tease."

"Alright boys, settle down," Nick cut in, rising from the bed laboriously. His entire body feel like cooked spaghetti. When he glanced back over at Greg and Hodges, the two of them were making out again. Nick chuckled under his breath. If only he had the energy, he might have joined them. Instead, he opted for a shower.

As the hot water cascaded over his aching muscles, Nick found himself reflecting on what had just taken place. Trying to maintain his judgment had been difficult, to say the very least—especially in the face of overwhelming physical gratification. Had he not been so aroused, he probably wouldn't have let Hodges get away with what he did.

In fact, he and David were going to have a little chat about that.


	3. Chapter 3

If Hodges didn't know better, he'd swear Nick was mad at him.

It all started the day after their most recent sexcapade—which had been one of their best as far as Hodges was concerned. The spontaneity and intense passion of the encounter had been an unexpected delight, not to mention all the new territory they'd explored. He presumed the three of them would come away from that experience closer than ever. Problem was, Nick hadn't so much as looked him in the eye since that night.

It wasn't just preoccupation, either. Nick was clearly avoiding him. He ducked into ballistics when he saw Hodges walking down the hallway, and had purposely rescheduled his break not to coincide with the other man's. Hodges' suspicion only grew when Nick had Warrick deliver the evidence from their case.

Maybe he was being hyperaware, but who could blame him? Something was clearly up. Standing in front of his locker at the end of his shift, Hodges vowed to find out just what that something was. He threw on his jacket and headed out into the parking lot, squinting against the early morning sun on the horizon. To his surprise, he noticed Nick's Denali still parked in its usual spot. With all the trouble he'd gone through to avoid Hodges that day, it was a wonder the man hadn't high-tailed it out of there the first chance he got.

The sound of footsteps behind him made Hodges glance over his shoulder. It must have been his lucky day, as Nick, quite alone, had just stepped out of the building, heading for his car.

"Well look who it is," said Hodges, a hint of amusement in his voice. Part of him—a part he didn't necessarily want to acknowledge because of how vulnerable it was—felt hurt by the way Nick had treated him that day. It was much easier to cover up those emotions by pretending the whole situation had been one big laugh, even though it pained him to play it off so casually.

At the sound of Hodges' voice, Nick's head snapped up like a whip. The expression on his face was pure deer in headlights.

"Want to tell me why you've been avoiding me?" Hodges asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Or did you think I didn't notice?"

For a disturbingly long moment, Nick merely glared at him. More than ever, Hodges knew something was definitely wrong. "If you want to talk, at least get in the car," Nick finally replied, continuing on toward his truck. He looked oddly subdued.

Hodges hung back, lost in a state of semi-reluctance. He really didn't know what to think about Nick's behaviour. Regardless of his own feelings, it seemed like the only way to get answers was to follow the other man. That thought was what compelled him toward the Denali, where he hopped into the passenger's seat.

Once both men were in the car, Hodges cast the Texan a probing look. Nick stared back at him blankly.

"Jesus, Stokes. What the fuck?"

Nick sighed deeply, as though he'd been prepared for that reaction. "I meant to talk to you," he admitted, resting his hands on the steering wheel. "But avoiding you was just... I don't know... _easier_, I guess."

The trace technician frowned. "You're still not making any sense."

"Think back, David. The other night." When Hodges raised a puzzled eyebrow, it was clear he still didn't understand. "You crossed a line," Nick elaborated, staring out through the windshield as though he was in some sort of trance. "I need you to know that."

Hodges was so surprised that he was rendered momentarily speechless. It was like his brain simply shut itself off in the disbelief that anything _he _could possibly do would affect the other man like this.

"I don't bottom," the Texan bristled suddenly, his features contorting in anger. He leaned over the console and fisted his hands in Hodges' shirt, but the trace technician made no move to stop him. "I just _don't_, okay?" When both their gazes met at close proximity, Nick's eyes were dark. Hodges could tell there was a lot buried there that he didn't want anyone else to see. "If that's something you want from me—"

"Nick, it's alright," David told him, feeling the man's hot breath across his lips. "I know you don't bottom, and I would never ask you to." Hodges hoped his sincerity was coming across, because he meant every word he was saying. "I'm sorry if what I did the other night crossed the line. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

Strangely enough, Nick's grip on his shirt only tightened, pulling their bodies even closer together. "Idiot," Nick growled. "I'm mad at you because I _liked_ it, and I'm fucking ashamed of that, okay?"

"_What?_" That wasn't the response Hodges expected. Being caught off guard so many times in one day was starting to make his head spin.

"That's not an invitation."

"I know. But there's nothing to be ashamed about." Nick looked as though he strongly disagreed, but he chose not to make an argument out of it. Nick certainly wasn't ready to discuss the reasons he wouldn't bottom, but that was fine by Hodges. If it was something Nick felt comfortable sharing one day, he'd be there to listen.

In the meantime, the only way Hodges could think to show his support was by closing the distance between their lips. The kiss was gentle and unhurried—it was David's way of showing the CSI that he liked things just the way they were.

"I really am sorry Nick," Hodges declared once they broke apart. The Texan's hands finally released his shirt, which Hodges took as a good sign. "Let me make it up to you."

Nick, whose spirits seemed to have lifted significantly, cast him an interested look. "How do you propose doing that?"

A smirk played across Hodges' lips. "Meet me back at your place and you'll find out."

Judging by the look on Nick's face, he liked the sound of that idea.

* * *

Greg stalked out of the fingerprint lab feeling downtrodden. He and Grissom's case seemed to be getting colder and colder by the minute, and it was stressing him out. The only prints Mandy lifted from the day planner had been the victim's, which left them in exactly the same place as before. If they didn't catch some kind of break soon, their killer might never be found.

Grissom was in the layout room, looking over the crime scene photos once again. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Greg had entered the room until he spoke.

"The day planner was a dead end," Greg told him, placing the evidence bag down on the table. "The killer must have either wiped it down, or worn gloves when he ripped the page out."

Slowly, Grissom nodded to himself, as though he'd been expecting that result. "I asked Brass to call the sister in. We need a list of people Sidney Hobbs knew well enough to let into his apartment."

"Alright, so I guess we're heading over to PD?"

"Actually, _you're_ heading over to PD," Grissom explained. "I'm waiting for Archie to drop off Sidney's phone records."

A satisfied smile spread across Greg's face. "Will do, boss," he said happily.

It didn't take very long for him to interview their victim's step-sister, Karen Thompson. Due to the fact that her brother had always been a loner, the list of possible suspects Greg ended up with was quite short. "Are you sure your brother didn't have any enemies?" Greg asked. "Was there maybe someone with a grudge against him?"

It was easy to see the sadness in the woman's eyes as she stared across the table at the young CSI. "Not anyone that I know of," she began, "and trust me, I would have been the first to hear about it if Sid had an enemy. We were best friends, he told me absolutely everything..."

"Do you know if he was meeting someone that day?"

"Well, he did call me that afternoon, but he didn't mention meeting anyone. All he could talk about was that his cable had gone out—he asked me if I could send Adam over to fix it, but he worked late that night."

"Adam?"

"My husband," she clarified. "He works for a cable company."

Greg nodded, scribbling the information down in his notes. "Were Adam and your brother close friends?" he inquired.

Karen shook her head. "They got along, but it was mostly for my sake. The two of them have always been polar opposites."

"So as far as you know, Adam _didn't_ stop by Sidney's apartment that night?"

"I don't know... I guess he could have, but he told me he didn't finish work until ten," she explained, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "What are you getting at, Mr. Sanders?"

"I'm going to need to speak with your husband, Mrs. Thompson."

The woman's eyes flew open wide, and her friendly tone immediately changed. "You can't seriously think Adam had something to do with what happened..."

Greg sighed inwardly, but remained composed on the surface. "I'm just following the evidence ma'am," he stated, setting down his pen on the table. "Your husband has nothing to worry about if what you say is true. I just need to confirm his alibi. It's protocol."

Luckily for Greg, his words seemed to have calmed her down. She allowed the officer near the door to escort her out to the lobby, where her husband had been waiting for her. A few moments later, the same officer returned, this time with the husband in tow.

Greg soon discovered that Adam Thompson was decidedly less cooperative than his wife. He claimed vehemently that he'd been at work until ten o'clock, after which he drove straight home.

"Can anyone confirm that?" Greg asked, jotting down the information.

Mr. Thompson leaned back in his chair. "No. I was the last one left at the office."

"Can your wife at least confirm the time you got home that night?"

"Every Thursday night she goes next door to baby-sit our neighbour's kid," he explained. "She didn't get home until after I did."

Greg made sure to document that. It was starting to look like no one could confirm the man's alibi, which didn't bode well for Mr. Thompson.

"Listen pal—I know what you're thinking. But I wasn't anywhere near Sidney's apartment that night. By the time I got home from work I was way too tired to go over there, so I just called the guy and told him he could live without his cable until morning."

Frowning, Greg stared down at his notes. Something wasn't right. "What time did you say you called Mr. Hobbs?"

The man rubbed at the back of his neck. "I guess it was just after ten. Why?"

"And you talked to him?"

"Yeah, that's what I just said."

A sense of elation spread through Greg like wildfire. Adam Thompson had just inadvertently sealed his own fate with that statement. "That's impossible. Our coroner confirmed that Sidney Hobbs died at nine o'clock," Greg told him, watching the man frown. "I think you did go by his apartment that night, but not to fix his cable. I think you went there to murder him."

Mr. Thompson let out a snort loud enough to make the officer standing by the door glare at him darkly. "You're wrong, but go ahead and think that all you want pal," he said, resting his elbows on the table nonchalantly.

Greg frowned. He was done playing games. "I doubt that cockiness will last for long. Your flimsy alibi, combined with the fact that we've got your prints at the scene—that's enough for a warrant to search your house."

The man immediately paled, which in Greg's eyes was a definite admission of guilt. For once since the beginning of the investigation, it looked like they were finally getting somewhere.

* * *

Despite his not-so-subtle proposition in Nick's car earlier, Hodges hadn't expected the man to jump him the minute they stepped inside Nick's apartment. It was definitely a welcome surprise, though. Hopefully it meant Nick had forgiven him.

That certainly seemed to be the case at first, the way the Texan's hands were all over his body. Greedily, they clutched at denim-clad hips and slid underneath his shirt, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. The feel of those semi-calloused digits raking none-too-gently across his abdomen had Hodges quivering in anticipation before either one of them had said a single word.

Then, for no immediately discernable reason, Nick pulled away, taking his warm touch along with him. Hodges was left flushed and confused, his pleasurable daze cruelly and abruptly shattered.

"Nick?" The trace technician searched the man's face for answers, but found lust instead.

"I've thought of how you can make it up to me," Nick proclaimed. A tiny smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Inwardly, Hodges could only pray that Nick's idea had nothing to do with that French maid costume they'd discussed the other night. "How, exactly?" he asked.

Nick's smirk was now full-fledged. He looked entirely too satisfied with himself, which was only fuelling Hodges' fear that he might soon be forced to play dress-up.

"First of all," Nick began, leaning close to whisper the words in his lover's ear, "you can take off your clothes and lay down on the couch."

There were few words to describe the excitement that fluttered through Hodges' chest at that moment. How was it that Nick—and Greg for that matter—always knew what to say to get him going? True to form, his compliance was nothing short of immediate. Hodges' shirt was off in record time, followed by dark-wash jeans and plaid boxers. All the while, a ravenous-eyed Nick watched closely, enjoying the spoils of the trace technician's prior slip-up. It was certainly good to have the upper hand.

Now divest of all clothing, Hodges made his way over to the sofa. Before he could sit down, however, Nick's hand came to rest possessively on the back of his neck, thumb stroking at the base of his hairline. Hodges fought the urge to purr like a cat, even though it might have been worth it just to witness Nick's reaction.

"David," said the Texan, his tone gently coaxing. "I have something special for you."

Hodges quirked his head to the side, still enjoying the small motions of Nick's thumb. "Aren't I supposed to be making it up to _you_, not the other way around?" he asked out of curiosity.

"Oh, you most certainly will be, but I want you ready for me first," said Nick. Using his existing grip, the Texan gently guided Hodges onto the couch. He arranged the man in a very specific position—on his knees, head down against the cushions, ass in the air. It was a position that left Hodges more exposed than he would have liked, but he made no attempt to move, nor did he protest, which was not only odd but downright uncharacteristic. At that point, it was clear to Nick how serious Hodges had been about making it up to him.

That thought, combined with the sight of the man's spine curved toward him so invitingly, made Nick even more determined about what he was going to do.

But still being dressed? That was a problem.

Mostly to build up Hodges' anticipation even further, he slowly stripped off his clothing piece by piece. By the time he was down to just his socks, which he yanked off and tossed on top of the pile, he could see David peeking eagerly over his shoulder, which made him smile.

"You're turning into Greg," Nick joked, offering the man a shrewd look, which Hodges returned in earnest.

"What can I say? He's been rubbing off on me."

The double entendre was not lost on Nick, who chuckled under his breath. "That does seem to be a favourite pastime of his." Trailing his fingertips over Hodges' hip, Nick suddenly crouched down. "And mine, come to think of it. Now turn your head back around, I don't want you peeking."

Hodges complied, though not without some suspicion. He clearly had no idea what was about to happen, which would make for a nice surprise. On course with his plan, Nick's hands wandered from Hodges' hips to his ass, which he took the opportunity to give a playful pinch.

The trace technician grunted in surprise at the touch, remarking, "Great. That's going to bruise."

"I hope so," Nick replied, grinning even though the other man couldn't see it. His gaze was still fixed on Hodges' ass, which was to be the target of his assault. Before the his lover could make another comment about being pinched, Nick gripped the man's pale cheeks and spread them apart, eyes lingering on the small puckered hole he found there. In one swift motion, Nick plunged the tip of his tongue inside.

The noises that came out of Hodges just then were like nothing Nick had ever heard before. The only audible phrase among a string of moans was a loud "Oh fuck!" when Nick pressed his tongue deeper. Not only was it making the Texan incredibly hard, but Hodges was writhing and clutching at the couch like he was going to come any second.

"_Ohhh god_." Despite having his face buried in the leather seat cushion, Hodges' moans still managed to echo stridently in Nick's ears. "More..."

The CSI was only too willing to comply. He thrust his tongue in even deeper—this time, as far as he could—and revelled in the result. Moaning into the cushion, Hodges reached back and clutched desperately at Nick's shoulder, blunt nails grasping for purchase. Nick barely noticed; even when Hodges' nails pierced his skin, drawing forth a few tiny droplets of blood.

One of Nick's hands strayed between Hodges' legs to encircle the man's cock, which was met with an appreciative moan. No more than a few strokes later, the trace technician's body tensed, shuddered, and he came into Nick's hand.

After several long moments, Nick stood up, admiring the spent body before him.

"I'm guessing that was your first time?" he said, smiling softly when his lover turned to face him. David managed a nod in between ragged breaths. Chuckling, the CSI joined Hodges on the couch, positioning himself between the man's parted thighs. "Damn, I've never heard you moan like that before. Maybe we'll get Greg to try that on you next time so I can watch your face..."

"God yes," said Hodges. His voice came out as a hoarse growl, which made Nick's cock twitch between them. Not a moment later, the Texan was wrenched forward and Hodges' mouth was on his.

The kiss spoke of more than just their lust for one another—it was Hodges' way of thanking Nick beyond what words could achieve. In fact, it seemed like David was expressing his gratitude for _everything_, not just the rim job. The way his legs coiled serpent-like around Nick's waist, drawing the most intimate areas of their bodies together, proved that he wasn't letting go. That thought conjured within Nick the same feelings of warmth and acceptance as the moment he realized he was in love with Greg.

Which, he realized, could only mean one thing.

"Don't hold back, okay?" Hodges declared, setting his jaw rather determinedly. "I want all of you." Rather than challenging, Hodges' tone was sincere—though his eyes held a glint of brazen sexual contest that Nick was helpless to ignore.

If Hodges wanted all of him, that's what he'd get.

It didn't take Nick long to slip on a condom and arrange himself at David's entrance. When he pushed inside, gaze flickering up to his lover's face in time to catch his reaction, it felt right; everything did. From the familiar feel of being inside Hodges right down to the weight of the man's cock in his palm. Each familiar detail—no matter how small—wielded an inordinate amount of control over the CSI, compelling him to thrust harder, bury himself deeper.

When the pair locked eyes, so much ran through the connection that it nearly made Nick dizzy. Thoughts of his stupid, childish behaviour toward Hodges that day came rushing back to Nick all at once. It had been clear to him, even from the start, that Hodges hadn't done anything wrong. The only reason he'd made such a big deal over the incident was due to his own foolish insecurities about bottoming—insecurities which, if he ever expected to earn both Greg and Hodges' full trust, he'd finally have to face up to. But that was something Nick was willing to do, he realized with a modicum of surprise. The trust of his lovers was far too valuable not to fight for, even if it meant facing demons he'd been hiding from since childhood.

"Nick... stay with me," Hodges urged, cupping the Texan's cheek. "When I said I wanted all of you, I didn't just mean your dick."

The CSI laughed under his breath, shaking his head at his own absent-mindedness. "Even so, I don't think I'd mind," he teased. With the ghost of a smirk on his lips, Nick drove home so that indeed 'all of himself' was what Hodges received.

The joke was not lost on the trace technician, who merely snorted and rolled his eyes. Still, he curled his legs even tighter around Nick's waist, moaning when the CSI pulled out almost completely and thrust in once more.

Nick rewarded him by lavishing kisses up the side of the man's neck. "You're being such a good boy for me today—you know how much I like that."

Hodges bit his lip, most likely to keep from coming too soon, but not before a small whimper managed to escape his lips. Both he and Greg had mused to one another on several occasions how difficult it was to keep control when Nick talked to them like that. Greg had joked that all they needed were a couple of leather dog collars and they'd be set. Hodges found himself surprisingly interested by that thought.

"Aren't I always?" he finally replied, a coy smile spreading across his face.

Now it was Nick's turn to roll his eyes, which he did dramatically and to the amusement of his lover. "Considering I'm fucking you right now, I could probably answer any way I want, couldn't I?" A mischievous glint flickered through Nick's eyes. "I could tell you you've been naughty, that you deserve a spanking... and you'd let me do it, wouldn't you Davy?"

Hodges bit down on his lip even harder, which in Nick's mind only proved how right he'd been. God, it was so hot watching the trace technician lose control this way. Nick likened it to one of nature's most extraordinary events—like a solar eclipse, or the Aurora Borealis. Something so rare you had to do a double take to make sure it was real, but something so beautiful you were powerless to look away.

"Are you?" Hodges queried. "Going to spank me, I mean?" By the hitch in his voice and the almost childlike innocence of the question, it was clear the topic had piqued his interest. Nick made a mental note to store that information away for later.

"Now why would I do that?" Nick teased, burying himself deep inside his lover once more. David's head lolled back almost lazily against the couch, his lips parted in a silent moan. "Besides, you're hard as a rock and I don't think you'd last very long." Nick emphasized this by trailing his thumb across the pronounced head of Hodges' penis. Not surprisingly, his finger came back slick with pre-come.

"Please Nick. I want you... to finish... inside of me," Hodges panted, thrusting his hips forward onto the Texan's cock. Using his arms, Hodges braced himself against the back of the couch to gain more momentum.

That was hardly a request Nick could refuse. He locked eyes with the grey-haired man and brought their faces close together. Still maintaining the pace of his rhythmic thrusts, Nick teasingly darted out his tongue to lick at Hodges' lips, which earned him a breathy groan.

Feeling his desire rise even further, Nick wrapped his hands around the back of Hodges' neck and rested their foreheads together. The friction between them was becoming overwhelming, especially when Hodges clenched his walls around Nick's cock every time he drove in. "Look at me." The CSI's voice was deep and syrupy. "_Ohh fuck_," he breathed. "David, I'm going to—"

Nick didn't even have time to finish his sentence before his climax hit. He gripped Hodges' thighs hard enough to bruise as he rode out the intense surge of pleasure, all the while maintaining searing eye contact with his lover.

The trace technician's expression at that moment said it all. He gazed back at Nick with awe written all over his face.

After a slow return to his senses, Nick's hand resumed its leisurely, skillful stroking of Hodges' cock, which twitched appreciatively against his palm. It was easy to see the hypersensitivity of the engorged flesh. Hodges' reactions, even to the smallest touch, were dramatic and well worth drawing the process out a bit longer. Nick did, however, make sure to adjust his grip accordingly—not too tight, but just firm enough to make David squirm a little bit.

With a throaty moan, Hodges buried his face in the crook of Nick's neck and bucked into the man's hand. "Fuckfuckfuck—_harder_. Oh god _please_..."

Obligingly, the Texan tightened his grip and continued stroking until Hodges finally lost it. He came in several, thick spurts over his stomach, shuddering until the sensations had finally passed. Nick could feel the man's hot breath on his shoulder.

It was a moment before Hodges was able to catch his breath. "Nick?" he asked, almost shyly. "Remember when we used to be at each other's throats? Not just teasingly, but for real?"

That was certainly an odd subject to bring up, but Nick remembered. Those were the earliest days of their threesome, when the CSI had to fight the urge to deck Hodges across the face every two seconds. "Yeah?"

"I like this better."


	4. Chapter 4

Greg couldn't believe his luck. The Sidney Hobbs case had gone from colder than cold to having a prime suspect all in one day. Maybe it was nature's way of telling him that good things were on the horizon. Or maybe that was just Greg being overly optimistic.

"Greg?" his boss called from across the Thompson's living room. "Come take a look at this."

Setting down the family photo he'd been looking at, Greg headed over to the large china cabinet Grissom was standing in front of. The entomologist gestured to the top shelf, where a stack of what looked to be crystal dinner plates sat. Carefully, Grissom lifted the topmost plate from the pile to examine it more closely.

"Frosted glass?" Greg wondered aloud. "That's an awfully big coincidence. How much you wanna bet that's the same kind we collected from the sink at the vic's apartment?"

Grissom didn't answer. He'd already moved into the hallway, and was heading toward the second floor. Hastily, Greg followed the man up the stairs and into the master suite—a large, open room with dark mahogany furniture. Grissom began poking through the nightstands, so Greg ventured into the bathroom. Aside from some various beauty products and hand towels, there wasn't much on the counters. He decided to start with the medicine cabinet instead, which was jammed full of assorted prescriptions and pill bottles. Ativan, Tylenol, vitamin D, Viagra, birth control pills—even Rogaine. As he was scanning the shelves, something of a different variety caught Greg's eye. Amongst a cluster of expensive-looking face creams sat a small glass bottle with clear liquid inside. Even when Greg picked it up, the print on the label was so tiny he had to squint just to read it.

"Uh, Gris? I've got liquid nicotine here... and the bottle is less than half full," he called out, staring at the label in disbelief. "I'm surprised the wife didn't notice it, just sitting in the medicine cabinet like this."

"That's not the only thing he left out in the open," his boss replied, in a tone that suggested he'd found something. The young CSI hurried back into the bedroom to discover Grissom holding a piece of paper in his hand. "The missing page of Sidney's day planner. Looks like we didn't have to go dumpster diving after all."

Greg's eyes widened in surprise. "What does it say?"

"Exactly what we assumed. Adam was pencilled in to visit Sidney at six-thirty that night. It says here, 'to have dinner and bury the hatchet.'"

"So there _was_ tension between them." Clearly Adam had been hoping to avoid suspicion by neglecting to mention that. "Over what, I wonder?"

"You might want to read this." Grissom held up another piece of paper, this time from the drawer of the opposite nightstand, and handed it to Greg. It was a hand-written letter addressed to Karen.

_I know you don't want to face the truth, but you can't run away from it forever. I'm telling you, Adam is jealous of me... of how close we are. He clearly doesn't understand the concept of family, which means he'll never accept that I'm a permanent part of your life. He wants me gone, Karen. But I'm won't let him get the better of me this time._

_- Sidney_

"Wow," said Greg, mulling over the words on the page. He extracted an evidence bag from his kit and slipped the letter inside, then glanced up at the other CSI. "Sounds like Adam was driving a wedge between Karen and her brother."

"Or Sidney was driving a wedge between husband and wife."

"That's motive." The cruel, deliberate way Sidney Hobbs was murdered spoke of more than just a casual connection to his killer—it was one thing that had that been puzzling Greg about the case since day one. Up until questioning Adam Thompson, they hadn't come across anyone with motive enough to want their victim dead.

"'O beware, my lord, of jealousy,'" Grissom recited. "'It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.'"

Greg quirked an eyebrow at the bearded man. "Shakespeare, I'm guessing?"

The grave supervisor nodded, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Othello." Greg rolled his eyes and laughed. Why was he not surprised that the man had a Shakespeare quote for every occasion?

"Can I ask you something?" Greg posed, moving back into the bathroom with his kit. His tone was suddenly very serious, which was perhaps why Grissom agreed. "Do you think we have enough evidence for a conviction?"

The long pause that followed spoke volumes. Grissom hadn't been expecting that particular question. "That's up to a jury, Greg," the entomologist told him a moment later. "Though I doubt they'll look too kindly upon what we've found here today. The page of the day planner, for example—if Adam Thompson's prints are on it, his lawyer's going to have a hard time convincing a jury that this wasn't premeditated."

Greg nodded. He really wanted to believe what Grissom was saying, but part of him remained worried.

* * *

During another lazy Sunday afternoon, Nick sat on the couch in his apartment, laptop resting across his legs. The Cowboys game was on in the background; Nick found himself glancing up at the TV in between reading his e-mails.

Aside from the usual spam, the only thing of interest was an invite to a forensics conference in Seattle. The organizers were inviting him to speak about one of his old cases in exchange for free airfare and accommodations. Nick scanned over the e-mail several times to make sure he read it correctly. A free trip to Seattle just to speak about an old case? Sounded too good to be true—which meant it probably was.

Sighing, Nick set his laptop aside and wandered into the kitchen in search of something for lunch. He'd almost decided on a ham sandwich when there was a knock at the apartment door. Quirking an eyebrow, the Texan hurried over to answer it.

"Warrick." Nick offered the man a surprised look, but opened the door wide enough for him to step inside. "What's up, man?"

His best friend held up a DVD case for him to see. "Finally returning _Lord of the Rings_," Warrick replied with a laugh. "And I was thinking since the game's on, you might want to hang out for a bit. Been a while since we saw each other outside work, hasn't it?"

A feeling of sudden panic overwhelmed Nick, making his heart race inside his chest. He wanted to spend time with Warrick—he honestly did—but he hadn't planned on his friend just showing up like this. Under the current circumstances, things could end up messy very quickly.

"You know," Nick began tentatively, trying to keep himself from fidgeting, "this really isn't the best—"

"Hey, Nicky?" came a voice from the bedroom. The Texan immediately felt the colour drain from his face. Warrick cast him a half-suspicious, half-knowing look. "You're out of shampoo. I could barely get anything out of..."

Greg stopped dead when he reached the bedroom doorway, noticing that he and Nick were no longer alone in the apartment. Dripping wet from the shower he'd just taken, only a towel, wrapped loosely around slim hips, kept him modest. He clutched at it awkwardly under Warrick's astonished gaze.

A few moments of painful silence followed. "Well damn, Nick," were the first words out of Warrick's mouth. "I knew you were seeing _somebody_, but..."

Nick rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. This wasn't how he wanted his best friend to find out about him and Greg. "I meant to tell you," he insisted, trying to swallow back his uneasiness. "But 'cause of work, we've had to be so careful. We just didn't want it getting back to Ecklie."

"You think I'd rat you out to Ecklie?" Warrick asked, obviously offended. "Do I look like Hodges to you?"

From the corner of his eye, Nick noticed Greg shift uncomfortably at that comment. _If only Warrick knew,_ Nick thought to himself, straining to keep a neutral expression. "Of course not, man. I know you wouldn't."

The other CSI shook his head in disappointment, which made Nick feel even worse than before. "I should probably go," he said, motioning toward the open door.

"'Rick, I'm sorry," said the Texan, almost desperately. "Don't leave. Why don't you stay and watch the game?"

An incredulous look came over Warrick's face. "Nick, I'm not gonna intrude on you two."

"Oh come on, it's not intruding," Greg chimed in. "The three of us have hung out here plenty of times."

"Yeah, but not while the two of you were fucking."

"Geeze, man. We're not going to jump each other," Nick insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now stop hovering in the doorway and come in. You know you're always welcome."

Now it was Warrick's turn to feel uncomfortable. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but then promptly reconsidered, letting it fall shut again. "Alright alright," he conceded, "but only if Sanders puts on some clothes."

"That I can do," Greg replied good-naturedly. He scurried back into the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Meanwhile, Warrick finally overcame his discomfort and made himself at home on the couch. Nick fetched them both a beer from the fridge and plopped down beside his friend, acutely aware of the silence between them. He couldn't get past the notion that he'd really hurt the other CSI, even though, for all intents and purposes, Warrick seemed perfectly fine. Nick contemplated apologizing again, but maybe letting the subject drop was actually the best way to go. Warrick probably just needed some time to let things sink in, anyway.

Nick was momentarily distracted from his thoughts when Greg emerged from the bedroom. Now dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, his presence was much more relaxed, which put Warrick even further at ease. Greg's hair was still slightly wet—any other time, Nick might have slipped an arm around the young man's waist and ran his fingers through those locks.

"You know what? We should order food. My treat," said Greg, snatching his phone off the coffee table. After a rather spirited discussion about the merits of pizza versus Chinese, the three of them eventually settled on the latter and watched the game while they waited. At least, Nick and Warrick did. Greg had instead taken the Texan's laptop hostage and was playing a game of solitaire.

As the afternoon drew on and their food finally arrived, the trio became more talkative. It stopped feeling like Warrick had walked in on their dirty little secret and actually began to feel normal, which Nick never could have predicted. To add to the success of the day, the Cowboys ended up winning—Greg had even set down Nick's laptop to watch the final minutes of the game.

"Look who's turning into you all of a sudden," Warrick joked, casting a meaningful look his best friend's way.

Greg scoffed at the remark, but Nick saw the merit it held. "What can I say? I have a lot of influence on him," Nick replied. He didn't mean to imply anything sexual with that comment, but the smirk on Greg's face said he read the unintentional innuendo anyway.

Warrick let out a defeated sigh. "I told myself I wasn't going to ask, but I need to know. How did you two...?" he trailed off, glancing from Nick to Greg. "And please, no gory details if you don't mind."

A distant look came over Nick's face. His mind was suddenly filled with pleasant memories of the day he and Greg's relationship crossed the line from friendship into something more. "Well," he began, "let's just say it started with a foot massage and escalated from there."

Greg laughed softly in remembrance, while Warrick almost spit out his mouthful of beer. "A foot massage?" he managed a moment later, partly laughing, partly disturbed. "I really shouldn't have asked."

"Oh shut up, since when are you such a homophobe?" said Nick, tossing a pillow at his friend's head.

Warrick grabbed the pillow out of the air and tossed it back at Nick. "It's not that, man—it's the mental image of you two having sex that I'm trying to block out. Thanks to Greg showing up half-naked, I may need therapy to undo the damage."

Greg glanced up from his chow mein and glared at their guest. "More like you'll want to go gay now that you've seen thisbody."

Warrick couldn't help it; he let out a loud laugh. "You're right Sanders, what was I thinking?" he teased, at which point Nick had to stifle a chuckle by passing it off awkwardly as a cough. "Not like I'm _married_ or anything." He held up his right hand, where a gold wedding band could be seen on his ring finger.

Greg's only response was to do what Nick did and toss a pillow at him.

Afternoon soon gave way to evening, with the three of them still curled up in the living room finishing their takeout. The football game now long over, Warrick finally rose from the couch and bid them a friendly goodbye. As soon as Nick shut the door behind their co-worker, his aura immediately changed. After a moment, his hands went to his hips in an almost thoughtful manner, and he turned his attention to Greg. The look on his face was grim.

"Nicky? You okay?"

The Texan took a deep breath and shook his head, which immediately made Greg's heart sink. "I don't think so, G. I don't think so."

Maybe for the first time, Greg honestly didn't know what to say to his lover. Still, he rose from his chair and approached Nick. "He didn't seem upset if that's what you're thinking. Surprised, maybe—but upset, no."

"He was disappointed in me, Greg. I didn't share this with him," said Nick. He didn't even wait for a response before making his way into the bedroom, leaving the other CSI staring after him.

"He'll get over it. Just give him some time," Greg advised, watching through the doorway as the older man flopped onto his bed. "I'm sure he understands why we couldn't just go around telling people."

Nick shrugged. It was his way of getting Greg to drop the subject by neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Sighing, Greg followed him into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He knew his lover well enough to see how deeply their encounter with Warrick had affected him—but if Nick didn't want to talk about it, Greg certainly wasn't going to push the topic.

An idea suddenly popped into Greg's mind. "I know what you need," he said, scrambling across the bed to straddle Nick's thighs.

The Texan let his head tilt to the side owlishly. "Oh really? What do I need?" His chocolate brown eyes held a far-away look, as though his mind were elsewhere; but Greg was hoping to fix that.

"A blowjob," he replied, a smirk on his lips. Greg's hands immediately went for Nick's belt, but a strong grip on his wrists stopped him before he could undo the buckle.

"What if I said I wanted something else? Something we've never done before?"

The expression on Greg's face was pure intrigue. Usually it was _him_ making the kinky suggestions, not the other way around. Maybe this meant Nick was finally developing some crazy fetish of his own. "Go on."

The older CSI cleared his throat and gazed up at his lover. Whatever he had in mind, Greg knew it was important. "I want you to top me," he said quietly.

Greg stared at him in shock. Without thinking, he wriggled his wrists free of Nick's grip. "You don't mean that."

"How do you know I don't mean it? You think I'd joke about something like this?" Nick reached down and finished unbuckling his belt, determination written all over his face. He certainly didn't look like he was joking, which frightened Greg more than anything.

"I'm giving you my permission, Greggo. My honest-to-God permission to fuck me. Don't tell me you don't want to."

An odd feeling nagged at Greg, reminding him that something wasn't right. "It's not about what _I_ want," he retorted, feeling angry at Nick all of a sudden. "This is a big deal. Don't just decide spur of the moment. Make sure you're ready."

The Texan's response was as out-of-character for him as it was rude. The scoff and the dismissive roll of his eyes dug deep into Greg like the twisting of a knife. This callous, needy person was not the Nick he knew.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I _am_ ready," Nick groaned. Before Greg could process what was happening, Nick bucked him out of his lap impatiently and began unzipping his own fly.

Panicked, Greg shook his head. He couldn't shake the feeling of distress that gripped him like a vice. "No—this isn't right. You don't really want this."

"Since when do you get to decide that?" Nick demanded, knowing he was right. After a moment's silence, in which Greg stared at him speechlessly, Nick pressed on. "Maybe I should just go to Hodges. After all, that's what _you_ do when I won't bow to your every sexual whim."

Greg let out a sharp breath, as though the wind had just been knocked out of him. Immediately, he looked away, shame etched across his features. There was no use denying it—they both knew it was true. The fact that Nick was throwing it in his face like this wasn't just a coincidence. He was making a point. At least, Greg hoped he was. He didn't even want to consider the fact that Nick might be doing it out of spite, or jealousy.

Feeling ashamed and vulnerable, Greg made to get up. The last thing he wanted to do was stay in the room with Nick staring him down like that, but the Texan pulled him back down.

"I wasn't finished."

Greg glared at his lover. "What do you want me to say, Nick?" he bristled. "You know damn well that I'm not proud of what I did. It was immature. I was being careless, and I hurt you." Greg shifted his weight almost tentatively, as if one wrong move might set Nick off even further. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Nick's demeanour immediately softened. "I appreciate you admitting that. Even if it is a bit late." Nick paused for a moment, waiting until Greg looked him in the eye. "Can you really blame me for wanting to see what you'd say?"

"Maybe not. But you acting like an ass isn't solving anything. Even if you _were_ just testing me." The Norwegian paused, shaking his head in disbelief. "You promised you'd let me inside of you—when you were _ready_. But you're not, and I don't appreciate being fucked with like that, okay?"

Greg's words hung in the air like a dense fog, bringing an odd tension into the room that hadn't been there before. It felt heavy, like an unexplainable weight pressing against both men's chests.

"What if I'm never ready?" Nick asked quietly into the silence.

Immediately, Greg's anger turned to sympathy. He realized that for Nick, giving himself to someone else, even someone he cared deeply about, would be one of his biggest challenges.

"Then so be it," said Greg, pulling the Texan close. "I'd wait forever if I had to."

Nick's mouth suddenly felt very dry. He had to clear his throat before continuing. "That sounds suspiciously like an 'I love you'," he noted, unsure of what else to say.

"It is," Greg told him. The conviction in his voice spoke volumes; it made Nick pull him into a tight hug, as though afraid he might float away. "After everything we've shared, it's about time I made that clear."

Nick was at a loss for words. His own feelings for Greg had become obvious to him long ago—but saying them aloud? The thought made him unexplainably nervous.

It became clear, however, that Greg wasn't going to demand a response. Instead, he merely smiled that charming, quirky smile of his, and Nick was instantly at ease.

"Will you let me show you how I feel?" Greg asked, his attention wandering to the Texan's undone fly. Nick nodded, lifting his hips to allow Greg to slip off his jeans. Once his boxers were also discarded, and his t-shirt shoved up to expose a hint of nipple, Greg sat between his lover's thighs, delighting in the vision of Nick's gloriously nude body.

Propped up on his elbows like that, Nick's strong, golden thighs were parted just enough to observe the beauty of what lay between them. Why Greg could never control himself when Nick's cock was in sight, he didn't know. It sat nestled below a patch of short, dark hairs that Greg wanted nothing more than to bury his face in. He loved the way Nick smelled—it was musky and masculine and triggered Greg's scent memory in all the right ways.

Instead of taking the more obvious route, Greg decided to begin elsewhere. He let his fingertips ghost down Nick's calf, making the man shiver. When he reached the Texan's foot, Greg picked it up and began massaging it, as his mind took him back to earlier that year, when a younger, much shyer Greg had done the very same thing.

"I never did tell you how sexy your feet are, Nicky," said Greg, his voice thickening with desire.

Nick grinned. Between his legs, his cock had begun stirring in response to the massage. "I gathered as much. Y'know, from the massive boner and all."

"Which I'm glad for," Greg added, smiling. He continued kneading the pads of his lover's feet until he felt the muscles begin to release—at which point Nick melted into the mattress like an ice cube over an open flame. That was when Greg surprised him by slipping Nick's big toe into his mouth.

For a moment, Nick's head shot up in apprehension, but his expression soon changed when Greg began sucking on the digit as he would Nick's cock. The look in the young man's eyes said he was out to please, and boy was that the truth. Nick felt sensations that made his mouth hang open in amazement.

"Mmm. What's this called? A toe job?" he wondered aloud, watching his lover smile around the digit. There was something so perfect, so beautiful about Greg just then—not even the fact that he had a toe in his mouth could detract from it (although it did make Nick chuckle a bit).

Soon Greg abandoned the big toe in favour of the pad of Nick's foot, which he lavished with several long swipes of his tongue. Nick's cock had not only taken an interest but was now fully erect, twitching toward his belly as though desperate for contact with something.

After a moment, Greg paused his ministrations, offering Nick a cocky smile. Then, he reached down to his fly and released his own erection. The sight of it poking out of his jeans like that made Nick hiss low in his throat. The sound was so arousing that Greg immediately forwent the rest of his plans for Nick's feet and focused further north.

He began kissing a trail up his lover's inner thigh, relishing the small breaths and moans it earned him. When he reached Nick's cock, he first took a few teasing licks at the man's balls before—in one unexpected motion—swallowing him deep.

An involuntary _uhhhh _escaped the Texan's lips—one so sultry and filled with desire that it made Greg flush. Soon Nick's hands were tangling in his lover's hair and Greg was sucking at the engorged head of his penis; licking along the underside, using his hands to grip the base while fondling his balls. All of his efforts made for a rather explosive finish when Nick finally climaxed. This time, Greg swallowed every drop and dutifully cleaned his lover off before glancing up at him expectantly.

"Greg?" said Nick. "You know how I feel about you, right?" The young man nodded. He'd known for a while, even though Nick had never explicitly stated it. "I don't know what I'd do without you," Nick confessed, pulling his lover tightly against his chest. The steady, rhythmic beating of Nick's heart was the most beautiful thing Greg had ever heard. He lay there for what seemed like a long time, just listening to it, before a thought occurred to him.

"What about Hodges?"

Nick glanced down at the pale CSI pressed against his chest. He wasn't necessarily in the mood to discuss Hodges just then, but it was a fair question. What _about_ Hodges? Where did the three of them stand? Was Nick in love with him? The memories of he and David's most recent tryst were still fresh in Nick's mind. Did he feel the same way about Hodges as he did about Greg?

"I don't know..."

Hodges had become so much more to them than just the co-worker they'd brought home from the bar one night. He was sarcastic and funny; he cooked for the three of them whenever Nick wasn't in the mood to do so, and even got down off his high horse once in a while (so long as no one was looking). The more time Nick spent with him, the more charming he found him. The thought of Hodges suddenly not being there to nag them and sleep with them was cold and uninviting.

"I care about him a lot," Nick admitted.

"Me too."

"Do you think he knows?"

Greg nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure he realizes there's a reason we've put up with him for this long."

Nick smirked. He couldn't have said it better himself. "C'mere G," he said, pulling his lover up so they could lie face to face. When Greg let his head rest comfortably against the pillow, his soft brown eyes, now sleepy and half-lidded, met Nick's. The Texan placed a gentle kiss against his forehead. "I never got to thank you."

Greg merely glanced up at him and smiled. "You're thanking me right now."


	5. Chapter 5

The next few weeks flew by in a haze of work. Nick was buried so deeply in an arson case that he'd completely forgotten about his email invite to the forensics conference in Seattle.

Days before the event was to take place, Nick sat both of his lovers down and told them the details of the offer. This yielded an unexpected surprise. Both men made it clear that if Nick planned on going, they wanted to come along. Rather than any actual interest in speaking about his case, it was the thought of Greg and Hodges' company that prompted the Texan to finally make up his mind.

Amidst all the chaos of getting packed, the three of them nearly missed their flight. When they finally touched down in Seattle, the excitement of the trip really began to sink in. For Nick, it was the first time he'd ever travelled with a lover (let alone two of them). He found himself sincerely looking forward to the next couple of days.

The hotel they were staying in was a grand, elegant building just down the street from where the conference was being held. When the cab dropped them off out front, they headed inside and checked themselves in.

"Do you think Grissom suspects anything?" Hodges asked, once the three of them were alone in the elevator with their luggage. His anxiety about asking Grissom for the same days off as his colleagues had yet to settle.

Greg, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber. He'd simply asked Grissom if he could join Nick for the conference as a 'learning experience' and a chance to 'rub elbows with other people in the profession', as he'd put it.

"I doubt it," Nick said, casting the trace technician a disparaging look. "No offence, but I'm sure Grissom has more important things to think about than what you're up to right now."

Hodges frowned, nursing his bruised ego, and dropped the subject. Beside him, Greg adjusted his aviators, glancing up at the lit panel that displayed each floor number. Once the elevator hit fifteen, the doors opened and let them off. A moment later, Nick was keying them into their room at the end of the hall.

All three men wore identical expressions of awe as they stepped inside. Just like the rest of the hotel, their suite was bright and lavishly decorated. Off the main living room area—where they currently stood—was a set of large French-glass doors, which most likely led to the bedroom and bath.

"I can't believe they're really paying for all this," Greg uttered, peering over his shoulder at Nick.

The Texan shrugged. He couldn't believe it either. "Probably the only way they can get people to speak at these things," he reasoned, tugging off his jacket. "They're generally pretty boring."

Hodges, still a little green with worry, perked up when he glanced out the window at the view. It was a beautiful panorama of the Seattle cityscape, made all the more spectacular by the bright blue sky and fluffy white clouds in the background.

"Wow. I bet they don't get days like this very often."

Greg wandered over to see for himself. His eyes raked over the expanse of buildings and streets below, marvelling at how different the city was from Vegas. "See?" he said, resting his chin on the man's shoulder. "Aren't you glad we decided to come along?"

Hodges made a small grumbling noise that sounded like an admittance of defeat. Greg could only nuzzle his neck and laugh.

On the other side of the room, Nick had already cracked open the mini-bar. It was stocked with water, various cans of soda, and an entire bottom shelf full of alcohol. The price list was exorbitant of course, but Nick figured _what the hell_ and dove in anyway.

When Hodges noticed the Texan cracking open a bottle of tequila, his face turned to concern. He was quickly distracted, however, by Greg's hands, which had wandered around to the front of his jeans, threatening even more intimate contact. All the while, Greg still had had his face buried in the man's neck.

A moment later, Hodges felt teeth biting into his skin and let out a startled yelp. "Ow. Take it easy..." he said.

"I can't help it. You smell really nice," Greg murmured against the shallow bite marks. He took a deep, leisurely breath and indulged in the scent of David's skin. It was a clean smell—fresh and lemony like soap.

"You'd better not be molesting him over there," came Nick's voice from across the room. The Texan had taken a seat in front of the small coffee table, where he was measuring out a shot of tequila for each of them. "Alcohol first, sex later."

"Is that how they do things in Texas?" Hodges joked.

Nick leaned back on the couch and crossed his arms. "Damn right it is." The look in his eyes was dark; sexual. It promised a number of very obscene things, the mere thought of which brought colour to Hodges' cheeks.

_Something_ had gotten into the CSI, that was for sure; something lustful and intense. If this was what Nick was like on vacation, Hodges didn't want to go back to Las Vegas.

At that point, there was no need for Nick to call them over. Greg and Hodges gravitated toward the couch like moths to a flame.

Nick deemed their first round of shots a toast to their free vacation. The second, a toast to their relationship. By the third and fourth rounds, they were finding anything and everything to toast to—Greg's favourite bands, Hodges' cat, even Grissom's bug collection. It made for an especially amusing sight watching Hodges, a man that rarely drank at all, shoot hard liquor. Some of David's facial expressions made Greg laugh so hard that he slipped off the edge of the couch and whacked his knee on the coffee table.

Following that incident, Nick decided to set the tequila aside for a while. Even as Greg investigated his injured knee, Nick couldn't help but smile to himself. It was going to be a good night. He could feel it.

* * *

It was later that evening when the three of them decided to explore the large hotel a bit more. Naturally, their first stop was the bar, which was already buzzing with guests when they arrived. Most of the patrons looked like corporate types, probably staying at the hotel on business.

While Nick and Greg scoped out an empty table, Hodges hurried off to grab them some drinks—not that they really needed more. Greg could still feel the tequila from earlier in his system. It swirled, warm and fuzzy, in the pit of his stomach, making him feel light-headed every once in a while.

"Jeez." Greg cast his eyes around the room. "I haven't even seen anyone cute yet," he joked. A moment later, he could feel Nick glaring a hole in the side of his head. "Except for you, my love."

Nick decided to let that one slide. His attention had turned to the crowd in front of the bar. "What the hell's taking Hodges so long?"

Greg followed the Texan's line of sight, but he couldn't see much past the sea of heads. "Relax," he said with a shrug, "I'm sure they're just really busy." An instant after the words left his mouth, the crowd began to thin, allowing for a glimpse of Hodges—only he wasn't alone.

Greg's heart skipped a beat.

There was a tall, redheaded man standing next to David at the bar. From what Greg could gather, the two of them were engaged in an animated conversation.

In that moment, Greg was instantly sober. Not only that, but he was suddenly hyperaware of Hodges' appearance, as if seeing him for the first time through someone else's eyes. The man's characteristic smirk, the charming flecks of grey in his hair, the way his eyes popped against the deep brown of his shirt—these were all things that Greg loved about him. The thought that someone, anyone, else might also perceive the modest beauty of those qualities did not sit well with Greg. Unconsciously, his hand curled into a fist under the table.

Nick had taken up looking at the drink menu and was too distracted to notice this development. Greg, on the other hand, couldn't take his eyes off of the scene unfolding at the bar. Hodges had just received their beers from the bartender. His redheaded hanger-on leaned in close to say something, but before Greg had the chance to read the man's lips, his view was blocked by a group of women passing by. Frustrated, he shifted to the right, trying to glance around them, but by then several other people had stepped in his way.

"Nick?"

The Texan glanced up from the menu in his hands. "Yeah?" he said, then paused at the anxious look on Greg's face. "What's wrong, G?"

"I thought I just saw..." He trailed off mid-sentence, still trying to spot the trace technician through the crowd.

"Saw what?"

Before Greg could answer that, Hodges returned to the table with their drinks. It took Nick a moment to realize that the redhead was with Hodges; when he did, the expression on his face quickly went from confusion to suspicion and he cast a panicked look at Greg.

"Guys, this is Jeff," Hodges told them, apparently unaware of the sudden tension at the table. "We used to work together at the crime lab in LA."

Now that the man was much closer, Greg's stomach gave an uncomfortable churn. Jeff was attractive. He had a musician-like vibe going on; several tattoos peeked out from underneath the sleeves of his t-shirt. His eyes, a piercing green, met Greg's for a moment, before turning back to his former co-worker.

"Colleagues?" he asked.

"Yeah, this is Nick and Greg. They're both CSIs."

"Ah, good. Then we have something in common already," said Jeff, offering them a friendly smile. Greg tried to smile back to be polite, but his mind and his body didn't seem to be operating on the same wavelength. All he managed was a sort of half-hearted nod.

"Why don't you sit down with us for a while?" Hodges offered.

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to intrude."

_Yeah right_, Greg thought. There was something about the way Jeff had leaned into Hodges earlier... he'd bet any money they'd been more than just co-workers back in LA.

It didn't take much convincing on David's part to get Jeff to join them. He pulled up a chair between Greg and Hodges, directly across the table from Nick, who was staring the man down like a hawk. Strangely enough, the redhead didn't even seem bothered by the unwelcome response.

"Cool hair by the way," Jeff said, turning his attention to Greg. His eyes raked over the messy, light brown style that Greg sported, then dipped down to his face. "It looks good on you."

"Oh." Greg swallowed awkwardly. "Uh, thanks." Feeling nervous under the man's gaze, the young CSI took to sipping his beer—mostly for something to do with his shaky hands. He glanced at Nick for help, but the Texan's eyes were still zeroed in on Jeff. A scowl was etched across his face.

"So, how's LA?" Hodges asked, still oblivious.

"Sunny. And still the crime capital of California, which makes for lots of work," he replied, before quickly changing topics. "But I'd rather hear about you. Tell me how you've been. How's Little Kobe?"

As Hodges delved into a rather long-winded story about his cat, Greg continued nursing his beer. He kept an eye on Nick during the conversation, just to make sure everything stayed calm. Which it didn't for long.

"So, _Jeff_," Nick jumped in during a lull in the conversation. "You seem to know David pretty well."

The redhead quirked an eyebrow, as though surprised that Nick had dared to breach the topic of he and Hodges' relationship. "I'd say so, yeah."

"Why is that, I wonder?" he questioned.

Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. Beside him, Hodges looked hopelessly confused. "If there's something you'd like to say to me Nick, go right ahead," the Californian challenged.

The Texan frowned and set his jaw. "If you just want to catch up, I'm not going to stop you, but if you're trying to get Hodges back or something—"

"Get him back? That would be implying I ever had him to begin with." A smirk spread across the man's lips. "Not that I didn't try."

Hodges, now caught up with the conversation, turned the brightest shade of red that Greg had ever seen on a person. Greg himself was having trouble processing the information; it was proving too complicated for his level of intoxication. Though one thought did ring clearly in his mind. In _what_ universe would Hodges turn this man down?

The screeching of a chair against wood drew Greg out of his thoughts. The trace technician had just risen from the table looking as though he would very much like to crawl under a rock. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, staring at Jeff. There was a broken quality to his voice that made Greg desperately want to throttle Jeff.

"Why not?" was the redhead's answer. "I'm sure your _colleagues_ would be interested in some of the things I know about you."

"Go to hell," Hodges snarled. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he took off and disappeared into the crowd.

Nick's lip curled menacingly. He looked as though he would like nothing more than to maul Jeff right there in the bar. Thankfully, Greg had enough sense left in his head to pull the Texan away from the table preemptively. Kicking Jeff's ass might make them feel better, but he knew that a brawl wouldn't solve anything. It would only make for more problems.

What they needed to do right now was find David.

* * *

The obvious first place to search for Hodges was their suite. It turned out that Greg's worry was for naught—the grey-haired man was leaning against the wall outside their door. He glanced up awkwardly when the other two men approached.

"I don't have the keycard."

"Oh. Right." Nick reached into his pocket and keyed the them into the room, closing the door once they were all inside.

The remnants of their earlier celebrations remained strewn atop the glass coffee table. More than half the bottle of tequila was gone, which Greg hadn't noticed before. The three shot glasses were empty; one was even knocked over from when Greg bumped his knee.

It soon became obvious that neither CSI knew what to say to the grey-haired man. They could see him hurting, but what would they do to stop it? The silence in the room was deafening. After a moment, Hodges wandered over to the window, staring out at the Seattle cityscape. When Nick called his name, he didn't answer.

With a nod from Greg, he tried again. "David," the Texan began tentatively, "he was only doing that to—"

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget about running into him. Okay?"

"Okay..." said Greg, exchanging an expression of uncertainty with Nick. "Whatever you want David."

As they watched Hodges slip noiselessly into the adjoining bedroom, Nick felt extremely helpless. Any other time, he would have gladly left David alone if that's what he wanted, but this wasn't just _any_ time. They were on vacation; Nick wasn't going to let them spend it in turmoil if there was anything he could do about it.

Keeping with this train of thought, he followed Hodges into the bedroom, where the man was standing in front of the bedside table removing his watch.

"Tell us what we can do," Nick said. His tone was pleading. After a pregnant pause, in which the room remained silent, Hodges turned around and gazed at him suspiciously. For a moment, his eyes jumped to Greg, leaning silently against the doorframe, before returning to the older CSI.

"You really want to help?"

"Of course we do," Nick insisted. "You know that." To close the distance between them, both physically and emotionally, he took several steps forward and grasped Hodges' hand in his. "I've never considered myself a jealous person, but the way I felt down there when I noticed how he was looking at you..."

"I think bloody murder was on both of our minds—and that's saying the least," Greg chimed in, coming to stand beside Nick. "Can't you see that we love you?"

Hodges froze like he'd been paralyzed. The topic of love had never come up between the three of them, which made Greg's statement all the more shocking to him.

"What will make you feel better?" Nick asked, still holding onto David's hand. He stroked the back of it with his fingers, enjoying the feel of the man's skin. "Room service? A Star Trek marathon? More tequila?"

Even Hodges looked slightly amused by Nick's suggestions. "No, I think more tequila would probably do the opposite..."

"Well, if forgetting is what you want, me and Nicky can easily take care of that," said Greg. He slipped his hand around Hodges' waist and lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "We can make you forget your own name."

While for a moment Hodges seemed quite interested in that idea, he shot it down in favour of another, more appealing scenario.

"This is what I want," he told them, staring at Nick. "Lie down on the bed."

There was no way Nick was saying no to that. He arranged himself face-up in the centre of the mattress, then turned to the trace technician for further directions. A wicked smile on his face, Hodges climbed onto the bed and straddled the Texan's hips. He didn't sit down, however. He instead remained on his knees and began undoing his belt. Greg, deciding he wanted a better view of what was going on, came up behind Hodges to watch over his shoulder.

Wondering what the man had in store for him, Nick observed in silence as Hodges removed his belt entirely. For some reason, he held it over the edge of the bed as though he were about to drop it—then, to Nick's complete and utter surprise, Hodges cracked it through the air like a whip.

The noise was loud enough to make both Nick and Greg jump. It almost sounded like a gunshot.

Greg thought he was going to melt into a puddle right there on the bed. Nick was a bit more apprehensive about where this was going, but he kept quiet.

"Take your shirt off," Hodges instructed.

Slowly, Nick pulled each button open until he was able to sit up and slip the shirt off his body.

"Give me your hands."

Nick did as he was told, extending his hands in front of him. As precisely as if he were handling evidence in his lab, David took each wrist, pressed them together, and began wrapping his belt around them. The impromptu bondage was only complete once he hoisted both hands over Nick's head and attached the belt to the headboard.

As was perhaps Hodges' intention, this position left the CSI on display, very much exposed, to both sets of hungry eyes gazing at him. Nick's apprehension remained, but he chose to stifle it. If this was what Hodges wanted—his submission, finally—then Nick would swallow his pride and let him have it.

Not that he had much choice in the matter at that point.

"Greg, help him out of the rest of his clothes," said Hodges, rising from the bed. While Greg divest the Texan of his pants and boxers, Hodges slipped out of the bedroom, returning a moment later with a glassful of ice cubes from the mini-bar.

Greg saw them first. Judging by the amused look in his eyes, he was clearly on board. Nick, on the other hand, was hesitant. Without use of his hands, he was left extremely vulnerable to whatever Greg and Hodges had in store. The whole situation made Nick realize how deeply he trusted the two of them. He would _never_ stray this far out of his comfort zone for anyone else.

Hodges carried the glass of ice cubes over to the bed and crawled back up to Nick's side. For effect, he gave the cup a gentle shake so that the ice cubes clinked against the glass.

Nick swallowed nervously; his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "This is what I get for offering to help."

"No," said Greg, a smirk on his face. "This is what you get for being a sexy boy from Texas that we can't keep our hands off of."

Nodding studiously in agreement, Hodges plucked an ice cube from the glass and held it in his hand. He paused then, as though he were trying to decide which area of the CSI's body to assault first. With a satisfied grin, he brought the cube to hover over the shallow of Nick's hip. "I must admit—I'm looking forward to this," he declared, letting the ice cube make contact with the Texan's skin.

Nick's reaction was immediate. He hissed and tried to jerk away from the frigid sensation, but Greg quickly pinned his legs to the mattress with enough body weight to keep them subdued.

Hodges stared, captivated, by Nick's responses to the onslaught. He tried turning his hips away from the man, but all that did was make Hodges have to reach a bit further.

The room had fallen deathly silent apart from Nick's gasps and heavy breathing. The beauty of what they were watching seemed beyond words; even more so when the ice cube began travelling upwards across Nick's skin, leaving a telltale, wet trail in its wake.

When it reached the Texan's chest, he squirmed and tried to buck Hodges' hand away from him. To watch their lover writhing like that, tugging desperately at the belt looped around his wrists, was arousing even beyond Greg's expectations. At that point, Greg couldn't help but straddle Nick's legs and focus his attention on the man's neglected arousal.

As it was, Nick was still the only one naked. Despite the treatment going on up above, he was very much erect. Smiling to himself, Greg trailed a finger down the underside of the man's shaft. Nick let out a whimper that was half pain, half pleasure, as Hodges was still exploring his chest with the ice cube. Predictably, the noise shot straight to Greg's cock. Hodges glanced over at him just then, as if to confirm the reality of what was happening. Greg's witty reply was to lick at the tip of Nick's cock. Still holding Hodges' gaze, he then took the head into his mouth, enjoying David watching him almost as much as having Nick in his mouth.

The Texan's writhing continued, only now he was having a more difficult time of it. Greg had an iron-clad grip on his hips, preventing him from bucking up into his mouth. The frustration was beginning to show on Nick's face.

A moment later, just as Greg had taken his lover deep, Nick let out a startled howl.

"Fuck!" he shouted, breaking the silence in the room. Greg immediately came up to check what had happened, which is when he saw Hodges holding the ice cube directly atop one of Nick's nipples.

"Ahh, you...fucking...bastard!" Nick fumed, yanking hard at his bound wrists.

"Well that's not very nice."

"David!" he said, trying to twist away. "Fuck, take it off, _please_..."

Relenting at the seriousness in the man's voice, Hodges did as instructed and removed the ice cube. It had melted so quickly from the heat of Nick's body that it was barely half the size it started out as. Before reaching into the glass for a new one, Hodges leaned down to Nick's abused nipple and dragged his tongue over the hardened nub. That, combined with Greg's resumed ministrations down below, drew a long, grating moan from the CSI.

So much of this experience was new to Nick; the submission, the impromptu bondage, the ice cubes. It gave him a rush surprisingly similar to that of paragliding, only this was even better.

A sudden, gentle bite on his nipple made Nick gasp. Hodges leaned up to look at him with a smile on his face. Greg had also withdrawn, and was currently in the process of divesting himself of his clothing. Hodges followed suit until all three of them were in an identical state of undress.

"I had something special in mind for you Nick, but since I'm such a _bastard_, you probably don't want it."

"Of course I do," Nick petitioned. "As long as it's not more ice cubes."

Hodges let his fingers trail over Nick's chest in small circles, spreading the wetness left behind by the ice cube. Greg was contenting himself by licking his way up Nick's cock from base to tip. Hodges glanced at him until they locked eyes.

"Greg brought the cock ring. Didn't you, Greg?"

Nodding, the young man hopped off the bed and made a beeline for his suitcase. He came back with the device in hand, as well as their other usual supplies, and turned it over to the trace technician.

"Please tell me Nicky's wearing it."

"Guess again."

Greg's excitement was promptly cut short. "Why is it always me?" he pouted, allowing Hodges to slip the clear, plastic ring onto him anyway. It felt even more snug than he remembered.

David's hand came up to touch the young man's cheek. "Because it's yours... and I like it when you're forced to beg for release."

"Oh god; you didn't just say that," said Greg, releasing a shaky breath. He trailed off when Hodges leaned in and pressed their lips together. The trace technician tasted like beer, which had Greg deepening the kiss, wanting more of his mouth. Greg had to admit, the man was an artist with his tongue. It was probably how he gave such amazing blowjobs.

Just as the young man was dwelling on that thought, Hodges sucked Greg's bottom lip into his mouth and nipped at it with his teeth.

"_More_," Greg whimpered into his mouth.

Hodges quirked his head to the side, his lips brushing against his lover's cheek. "More? I don't think you can handle more." To prove his point, he reached down to the young man's cock and fisted the sensitive head.

Greg's knees buckled under him, but Hodges was there to keep him steady. The man's hand wandered down his shaft to where the cock ring was, probing at it until he discovered how to turn it on.

A string of obscenities poured from Greg's lips. He clutched at David's shoulders, digging his nails in every time the vibrations made his body tense.

"Is that enough for you yet?" Greg's eyes were screwed shut; he didn't answer. Hodges tried another tactic. "You like it when I tell you what to do, don't you Greg?" he teased, running his hands through his lover's messy hair.

Greg bit his lip. "Yeah..."

The trace technician promptly shoved the young man in the chest, making him fall to the bed on his back. "Don't move," Hodges told him. "I'm not done with you yet." At that point, he turned back to Nick, who had been watching the scene unfold with rapt attention.

"David..." he said, rolling his hips toward the man. "Fuck, just touch me." It was clear he had been left neglected for too long, which Hodges was now about to rectify. He reached for one of the condoms Greg had brought over. After tearing open the package, he rolled it down over the head of Nick's cock. Then, he laid down on his back and told Greg to prepare him.

With slicked fingers, Greg eagerly pushed inside of Hodges, scissoring and stretching, until he was ready for Nick.

David wasted no time positioning himself over the Texan. As he slowly lowered himself onto the man, watching Nick's expression turn to one of ecstasy, all David could think was that Greg had been right earlier. Hodges_ was_ glad they took this trip together. Even running into Jeff didn't seem so terrible now that it had led them to this new experience.

It didn't take long, once Hodges started to move, for Nick's sexual frustration to surface. He was the kind of lover that needed to touch, explore—feel his partner's skin under his. Hodges knew ahead of time that taking away the use of his hands would prove a challenge for the CSI. The conflict played out clear as day on Nick's face.

"Ohh god. _Harder_," said Nick, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them a moment later, it was to find Greg at his side, leaning over his chest. Nick could still hear the high-frequency hum of the cock ring, which he knew must be getting painful by now.

Greg was handling it with as much grace as possible. Currently, his attention was fixed on Nick's nipple; the same one Hodges had abused with the ice cube earlier. He took it into his mouth, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh until Nick was groaning louder than ever.

"Hodges," Nick grit between shallow breaths. "I'm... close..."

Soon enough, the Texan bit his lip and began thrusting his hips up into the grey-haired man. Greg could see Nick teetering on the edge, so he bit down a little harder on the man's nipple, hoping to help send him over.

That, in combination with the two men's hard, rough thrusts, did the trick in the end. Nick's body shuddered and contracted in several powerful waves, making him tug so hard at the belt around his wrists that it dug painfully into his skin. Hodges sunk down onto the man's cock one last time once Nick was finished, giving both of them a moment to recover. Eventually he lifted himself off and collapsed on his back on the mattress. Greg noticed with curiosity that the trace technician still hadn't reached climax.

Then, as if David had read his mind, he glanced over at the young man. "Come here," he beckoned, urging Greg to climb atop him and press their cocks together. The heat of Hodges' skin on his, especially with the added stimulation of the cock ring, made Greg tremble and press his face into the curve of the man's neck. He was barely capable of holding himself up.

"No, I want to see your face," Hodges said. A look of desperate arousal awaited him in his lover's eyes. He drank it in greedily, grinding his hips up into Greg's. "Does it hurt?" he asked, referring to the cock ring. Hodges could feel its vibrations on his skin.

"Yes..." Greg let out a loud groan and reached between their bodies to remove the device. "Please David, it's killing me," he added when the man went to stop him. Not wanting to torture Greg too much, Hodges nodded.

Once Greg slipped the ring off, he resumed thrusting their cocks together until, a few moments later, he was grunting his orgasm into Hodges' shoulder. As always, David followed soon after. The sight of Greg coming always got him off; perhaps because he used to fantasize about it so often. Most extraordinary of all was the feeling of being in control—especially of Nick, who seldom let anyone have power over him. It was a role reversal that Hodges thoroughly enjoyed.

Gradually, he and Greg let their hips slow to a stop. Hodges glanced down at the mess between their stomachs; he could almost get hard again just looking at the stickiness smeared across Greg's skin.

"David, untie me you fucker," said Nick, reminding the two of them that he was still tied to the headboard. After a moment of fiddling with the twisted belt, Hodges freed the man from his restraints. The skin of Nick's wrists looked red and chafed where the belt had held them together. Wincing, he rubbed at the tender area.

Hodges felt awkward all of a sudden, like maybe he'd taken things too far. He leaned into the Texan, waiting until their eyes met. "I hope you're not mad," he said a bit shyly.

"Why would I be mad? This was what you wanted, wasn't it?"

Hodges frowned. That wasn't the answer he'd been hoping for. "Yeah... but did you _like _it?"

Nick shot him an exasperated look. "I came, didn't I?"

_Yes, you certainly did_, Hodges thought to himself. The memory of it was still fresh in his mind. "Why are you answering all of my questions with questions?" he asked, curious to see what Nick would say. Hodges knew he was being an ass, but that had never stopped him in the past, so why now?

The Texan rose from the bed, still nursing his chafed wrists. He didn't seem angry, per se, but something was definitely off. "You're doing the exact same thing," Nick pointed out. "Or haven't you noticed?"

"Guys?" Greg cut in, stifling a long yawn. "Can we have showers now?"

Nick and Hodges were at least in agreement about that. As the three of them marched off into the bathroom, all thoughts of the evening's rocky beginnings were nothing more than distant memories.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the excitement of Seattle, being back in Vegas felt good. There were a lot of great things Greg would remember about their trip, but admittedly, some he would rather forget.

The conference had gone well—or so he'd been told. Greg was there of course, but he'd fallen asleep on Hodges' shoulder within the first half hour and managed to miss Nick's entire presentation. His two lovers had actually laughed about it later that day, amusing themselves on the plane with their best impression of Greg slumped over, drooling on Hodges' shirt. Despite the jokes at his expense, Greg could at least be glad about one thing—whatever weirdness went on between Nick and Hodges that first night had evidently diffused.

Now back at his apartment, Greg tossed his keys on the kitchen table and checked his answering machine. There was a message from his mother, telling him to call her as soon as he got in, and one from Grissom asking how the trip went.

After calling his overly-protective mother back and assuring her that he hadn't been mugged or lost his luggage at the airport, Greg flopped down on his couch and let his eyes fall shut. He was asleep within minutes.

When he woke up sometime later, it was to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Groggily, he fished it out of his pocket and brought it up to his ear. It was Sara; not necessarily who he expected, but a welcome voice nonetheless.

"I'm outside your building," she told him. "Feel like coming down? We should grab a coffee and talk for a bit."

"Yeah, 'course," Greg replied, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Something about her tone threw him off. It sounded awfully serious. "Is there something wrong?"

"Aside from the fact that I never see you anymore? Not a thing."

Greg forced a laugh. It came out sounding stiff and awkward, which was exactly how he felt at that moment. He and Sara were supposed to be friends—yet he'd all but forgotten about her now that Nick and Hodges were in the picture. It wasn't like him to treat anyone that way, let alone people he cared about. But somehow, without him even knowing it, this thing with Nick and Hodges had consumed his life.

"I'm coming down, okay? Just give me a minute." Greg flipped the phone shut and hauled himself off the couch. Before leaving his apartment, he paused to examine himself in the mirror. There were no visible hickeys or bruises on his skin. That was good. The last thing he wanted was for Sara to see another bruise and start worrying about him again.

A short elevator ride later, he was stepping out of his building and into Sara's car. Idling at the front doors waiting for him, she glanced up and smiled as he climbed into the passenger's seat.

"That was quick."

"Not like I was doing anything," Greg said with a shrug. "Well, except napping."

The dark-haired CSI pulled out of the long driveway and headed down Greg's quiet street. "Jetlag?" she asked.

"I don't know..." Greg pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt the beginnings of a migraine coming on. "I guess I was just really tired."

"Meaning the trip went well, I hope?" She cast him a perceptive smirk, which made Greg freeze in alarm. He realized, after a moment, that Sara wasn't insinuating anything about him and Nick—she probably just thought the two of them had gotten liquored up and gone out partying.

Trying to get his heartbeat back down to normal, Greg nodded. The real reason he was so tired, which he wasn't about to share, had more to do with that weekend's sexathon than being hung over. "Yeah. It was nice to get away for a while, even if it was to something work-related."

"What, were there no cute guys there?" she joked, though part of Greg wondered if she'd meant the question seriously. He opened his mouth to make one of his typical witty replies, but closed it awkwardly at the last minute. "Or are you still with the hickey-giver?" Sara continued, noticing his discomfort.

Perhaps Greg was just being paranoid, but it almost sounded like she'd been waiting for an opportunity to broach that subject. The young man grit his teeth. He hated having to lie to Sara, but the truth was just not an option when it could get himself, Nick and Hodges in so much trouble.

"Uh, yeah. Still seeing him. But it's nothing serious," he said, hoping to deflect further questioning.

Unfortunately, that only seemed to interest her more. "Still? After all this time?" she asked him. Peripherally, Greg could see her examining his face while they were stopped a red light, but he pretended not to notice.

He shrugged, trying to show her that it wasn't a big deal. "It's just sort of an open thing, you know? It wasn't meant to turn into anything serious."

"Greg," she said sternly. He turned to look at her, feeling like an unruly two year old being scolded by his mother. "You've always been really open with me about stuff like this. I don't mean to pry, I just wonder why it's different this time."

"I'm sorry... but if you wouldn't mind, I just don't want to talk about it right now," he told her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Sara frowned. The disappointment in her eyes made Greg turn away, stricken with guilt. "Is there no chance at all that I might get to meet this mystery guy?"

Panic rose in Greg's chest. "Sara..."

"Alright, I just promised myself I would ask," she said, turning into the parking lot of Greg's favourite coffeehouse. "I'm done with the questions, okay? I promise."

Somehow, Greg doubted that.

* * *

In the weeks following the Seattle trip, Nick had been bogged down with so many cases that virtually all his free time was spent sleeping. It was a gruelling schedule of crime scenes, analyzing evidence, and waiting for lab results that left no time for anything else, let alone Greg and Hodges.

When at last he'd used up all of his overtime for the month, Grissom was forced to distribute some of his workload to the less-encumbered swing shift, which finally gave Nick a chance to breathe. As difficult and stressful as it could often be, Nick loved his job. He wouldn't trade it for the world. But the fact that he scarcely had time for himself was frustrating to say the least.

After his shift one morning, he bid everyone in the break room goodbye and swung by the layout room on his way out. Greg was there alone, leaning over the table to analyze a batch of crime scene photos. He glanced up when he noticed the Texan enter.

"Still working on that case with Sara?" Nick asked him.

"Yeah; she just ran off to see Archie about some of our surveillance footage..."

The older man couldn't help but notice how tired Greg looked. There were large dark circles under his eyes, made all the more pronounced by the paleness of his skin. He was being overworked too, Nick knew.

Greg cast a curious glance at the Texan's jacket. "Are you heading out?" he asked, to which Nick nodded in response. "Lucky you. I'm stuck here for at least another couple of hours depending how things go."

"Don't worry. It'll fly by faster than you know," Nick reassured him. He cast a furtive look out the doorway before adding, "How about I make lunch when you get home? Pasta, burgers, ribs... whatever you feel like."

A smile spread across Greg's face. It wasn't just any smile, either—it was the cute, excited one that made Nick's heart melt into a puddle on the floor. He and Greg's recent lack of quality time together was sending Nick into some kind of withdrawal that he was eager to see the end of.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," said Greg. He gave a little wave as the Texan headed out of the room, which had Nick grinning like an idiot all the way to his car.

When he arrived at Greg's apartment a little while later, he kicked off his shoes and poured himself a glass of water. It was only when he stepped into the living room that he noticed the balcony door open.

Frowning, Nick headed toward it, but soon froze in his tracks. A familiar male silhouette was standing on the balcony smoking a cigarette.

"David?"

Nick stared at the trace technician in disbelief. The lit cigarette hung artfully from his lover's lips, as though he were a regular smoker. In addition, Hodges was sporting a more casual, Greg-like ensemble in lieu of his usual button-up shirt. Nick couldn't help but furrow his brow at the strange sight.

"Since when do you smoke?" he questioned.

Hodges shrugged it off like it was nothing. "I just started."

Inwardly, Nick was sent reeling. Why would Hodges start smoking? He'd always been against it in the past. He was such a staunch critic of putting anything harmful into his system that he'd made both Nick and Greg start buying organic, just to avoid ingesting pesticides. The fact that he was casually smoking a cigarette after all that made it even more disturbing.

In addition, Nick noticed somewhat belatedly that the clothes Hodges was wearing were actually Greg's. He didn't know what to make of that.

All the Texan could do was fold his arms over his chest and sigh. "You should know better than that," he said, watching his lover bring the cigarette to his lips again.

"Maybe I don't care."

Nick's frown deepened. On a whim, he plucked the cigarette from Hodges' hand and tossed it over the edge of the railing. His eyes remained fixed on the other man.

"Well _I_ care," he declared. "These will kill you David, and I want you around for a long time."

Hodges, distracted by his cigarette plummeting through the air, glanced up sharply at the other man. "You do?"

"Of course." The CSI stared at him with concern. "What's up with you today?"

Hodges answered with another vague shrug. He turned around and headed back into the apartment, leaving Nick alone on the balcony staring after him. It was a moment before the Texan followed him inside.

"I'm making lunch when Greg gets home," Nick announced, watching Hodges flop down onto the couch. "Will you be joining us, or would you rather keep brooding?"

The grey-haired man drew his knees up to his chest. He still managed to look attractive despite his foul mood—although Nick suspected that was probably his neglected libido talking. Not that he minded. Maybe it was this that carried him toward the couch. Either way, he took a seat beside the trace technician and studied his profile.

"We've barely seen each other these past few weeks. I missed you," Nick admitted. Hodges cast him a sidelong glance. It seemed like he wanted to believe the Texan's words, but there was still an air of suspicion about him.

"You didn't call," he pointed out.

The CSI leaned back with a sigh. "You know how busy it's been at the lab. I barely had a free moment."

"All I know is that you came rushing in and out of my lab all week without so much as a 'hello, how are you?'"

"David, I was _busy_," Nick told him. "Besides, I don't want anyone to notice me hanging around your lab too much, otherwise they might get suspicious."

"What about Greg? He hangs around my lab."

"I've told him to stop doing that."

Hodges frowned. "No one's going to assume we're fucking just because you're hanging around my lab," he said with a haughty look. Nick glared back at him. "I doubt they'd even believe it if they found out," Hodges went on. "It took Catherine a while to wrap her head around it."

Nick's heart raced in his chest. "If that was supposed to be a joke, it wasn't funny." Something in his gut told him it wasn't a joke, though. Hodges' reaction only confirmed his fears—he had the sudden expression of a deer in headlights. Not only that, but he swallowed nervously when Nick looked him in the eye.

"She saw Greg and I fooling around in my car..." Hodges confessed quietly. "It was after we first got together."

"You've got to be kidding me." The Texan rose from the couch angrily and began pacing the living room. "She's known about the two of you this whole time?" It was hard to believe that they had both kept this from him for so long.

Hodges fidgeted uncomfortably. "It was an accident, okay?"

That was the last thing Nick wanted to hear just then. He didn't want excuses. "How could the two of you be so careless?!"

David shook his head, a scornful look in his eyes. "You're really going to lecture me about being careless after what happened with Warrick?" he asked.

"That was different."

"Sure. If you say so."

Nick paused in front of the television, hands on his hips. "You know what? You've been trying to pick a fight with me for weeks, so go ahead."

"Why would I want to pick a fight with you?"

Nick shrugged. "I don't know, David. You tell me."

The trace technician gave an exasperated sigh and glanced toward the balcony. "You're _wrong_, Nick. If I knew you were going to freak out I wouldn't have even started this conversation," he said, hoisting himself off the couch. When he made for Greg's room, Nick stepped in front of him.

"If you're mad at me, just tell me," Nick implored. "I'd rather sort this out now than have it up in the air."

Hodges took a slow, almost menacing step forward so that he was well within the Texan's personal space. It was the absolute last thing Nick expected him to do, which left him bewildered and on edge.

"Alright then. I'm mad at you."

A sinking feeling gripped Nick's stomach. It made him nauseous. Was Hodges mad because he hadn't called? Or was it because he hadn't stopped to chat with him at the lab? Nick's brain kept running in circles. Meanwhile, Hodges stepped around him and into Greg's room. The Texan watched him flop down on the bed and flip open his laptop. No matter how long Nick stood there, David refused to acknowledge the other man's presence outside the room. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on the screen, pretending to be enveloped in whatever he was doing.

Nick sighed. His lover's behaviour left him feeling confused and victimized. What had gone wrong since the night they shared in Seattle, other than having spent time apart? Sure, the three of them clashed occasionally—usually for stupid reasons—but this felt different somehow. Especially since it was Hodges being the melodramatic one.

Nick wished he knew what to do.

* * *

Uncomfortable was the only word Nick could think of to describe lunch that afternoon. He ended up making pork shish kebabs that turned out really great. It was a shame he couldn't even enjoy his with a moody, foul-tempered Hodges sitting across the table.

Greg worked every charm in his arsenal to convince David to have lunch with them, but now Nick was wishing he hadn't. He wanted the snarky, overconfident Hodges back, annoying habits and all. The person sitting in front of him now was a mere shell of that man.

The table was oddly quiet. Usually they liked to chat over meals; tell each other about their day, maybe crack a joke about Grissom's bug collection. This eerie silence that had befallen them was as much a mystery as Hodges himself.

It wasn't until the end of the meal, once their plates were clear, that the trace technician finally decided to speak up.

He cleared his throat, which immediately got everyone's attention, and gingerly set down his fork. "Thanks Nick. For lunch. It was really good."

"You're welcome," Nick replied, quirking his head at the man. "Does that mean you're not mad at me anymore, or was the food just that good?"

Hodges stared down at his plate. "This isn't going to work," he said quietly.

Greg glanced up from his beer. "What are you talking about?"

"Three people, all trying to be in a relationship with each other." David shook his head. There was a look of regret on his face. "I don't know why I ever convinced myself it was possible..."

"Why does it sound like you're giving up on us?" Nick questioned, growing more and more concerned. "Of course it can work; the evidence is right in front of you."

Greg was staring at Hodges in disbelief. After taking a moment to collect himself, he chimed in. "We knew this wasn't going to be perfect. But what is?"

"So what if we have to work a little harder? We get twice the happiness in the end," Nick added, hoping that would be enough to quash whatever fallacious thoughts the grey-haired man was having.

Instead of calming Hodges down, their words only served to agitate him even more. "Yeah, and twice the pain," he muttered. "There's so much I didn't know going into this. I need some time to think."

"Think about _what_?" Nick bristled, his pulse racing. "The fact that you'd be walking away from something amazing just because you're scared? Don't you understand, David? We're in _love_ with you!"

"You _can't_ love me!" Hodges shouted, kicking back his chair.

"Why the fuck not?"

Greg, the quietest in the room, reached out to touch Hodges' hand, but the trace technician pulled away harshly.

"Because then I have something to lose," he told them.

Nick's whole body tensed. All he and Greg could do was stare at the man until Hodges turned around and left the apartment. Both men wanted so badly to chase after him, bring him back, but what could they say? His mind was made up.

Greg rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. It was a long time before he had the courage to look up at Nick and ask, "Did he break up with us?"

The absolute heartbreak in his lover's voice made Nick feel even worse about what had just happened. "No. He wouldn't," Nick reasoned, though it was more an attempt to convince himself than Greg.

"Well what the hell? We can't just let him walk away!"

Nick sighed. As much as he was inclined to agree with that train of thought, he knew no good would come of forcing Hodges' hand. "It'll only make things worse, Greggo. Give him a little breathing room; we can talk to him tomorrow."

It was clear that Greg was not consoled, but he gave a sad little nod anyway.

"C'mere," Nick said, rising from his chair. He met Greg around the side of the table and pulled him into a tight hug. Just the young man's scent was enough to give the Texan some sense of calm. He was hoping his presence would do the same for Greg. Not only that, but he wanted to show his lover that he was here for him—that they were in this together, no matter what.

"Everything will be fine," Nick continued. "We'll stop by his house tomorrow night, okay?"

Greg hugged him back even tighter. "I wish I could read his mind. I want to know what the hell he was thinking."

After what Hodges told them, the Texan actually had a hunch in that area. "I think he's scared."

"Of what?" Greg asked.

"Of what this became," Nick explained, rubbing Greg's back in slow, lazy circles. "He's mentioned in the past that he never expected this to go as far as it has. You heard him; he's afraid of having something to lose. I don't know if he's ever been in that situation before."

"I just wish he hadn't said that we can't love him. It's like he thinks love is something you can control," said Greg, pulling out of the embrace so he could look Nick in the eye. He pressed a gentle kiss against Nick's lips, but lingered close to him for a moment afterward. "Remind me to kick his ass for saying that," the young man added, feeling Nick's lips brush his cheek as he laughed.

"I have a theory." The former lab rat quirked an eyebrow, inviting Nick to continue. "He's been acting weird since Seattle—which, coincidentally, was when we first told him we loved him," Nick said with a shrug. "Maybe he's scared, or he just doesn't know how to deal with it..."

"Well, I guess that does put a bit of perspective on the way he's been acting," Greg mused, biting his lip. He still looked distraught. "What are we even going to say to him tomorrow?"

"Whatever it takes to get him back."


	7. Chapter 7

The next evening couldn't come fast enough for Greg. He could barely relax enough to fall asleep; his mind was still in overdrive about Hodges. He'd probably kept Nick awake half the night with all his tossing and turning, even though the Texan swore he hadn't.

Greg woke up feeling worse than if he hadn't slept at all. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, which told him it was just after noon. He let his head fall back onto the pillow with a sigh. Hodges had switched shifts that day with the day shift guy, which meant he'd be off work around eight. To Greg, those eight hours seemed like an eternity.

Nick had rolled over and gone back to sleep, but Greg was too awake to laze in bed any longer. Slowly, as not to wake the snoring Texan, he slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed into the bathroom. When glanced at himself in the mirror, Greg cringed at the frightening state of his hair. As a result of his restless sleep, it stuck out in every direction. He knew enough not to even attempt combing it; instead, he stepped out of his boxers and turned on the shower.

For a long time, Greg merely closed his eyes and let the water flow over his body. Maybe if he just stayed in the shower, the warm water would distract him from thoughts of Hodges. Of course, as soon as Greg thought that, all he could picture in his mind was Hodges' face. Images of the man's smile, the flecks of grey in his hair and the way he looked when his eyes filled with desire flooded the young man's mind. Not surprisingly, Greg's thoughts became increasingly sexual until the point where he was picturing the trace technician naked, shamelessly spread out before him...

Abruptly, Greg heard the bathroom door creak open. When he opened his eyes, Nick was standing in the doorway. Greg realized, somewhat regretfully, that the sound of the water running had probably woken him. Yet Nick didn't seem upset. Quite the opposite, actually.

Without hesitation, he entered the room and began stripping off his clothes until he was as naked as Greg. A moment later he was stepping under the water alongside his lover.

"You're hard," Nick noted.

Greg's eyes flew downward to discover that the Texan's statement was indeed true. A blush immediately coloured his cheeks, though not out of embarrassment. He was merely surprised that he hadn't become aware of his body's reaction earlier. Given the direction of his thoughts, he probably should have expected it.

"You know," Nick began, trailing his fingers over Greg's pale hip, "you can tell me if you were jerking off. I swear I won't be mad." A subdued sort of playfulness gleamed in his eyes. Along with the water cascading over his face, it made for quite the picture.

"You want the truth?" Nick nodded in response. "I was trying not to think about Hodges," Greg told him, "but I couldn't help it..."

Nick cast him a knowing smirk. His fingers traveled from Greg's hip to cup the young man's ass. "Well I can't just leave you here all hard and wet. What would you like me to do, Greggo?"

Greg leaned against the shower wall. Even now, after all this time, Nick could still turn his knees to jelly with an invitation like that. The butterflies in his stomach, exactly the same as always, never failed to exhilarate him.

"I want your mouth," Greg heard himself say. The words dripped from his lips like honey and the assuredness in his voice was unmistakeable.

Nick merely grinned. As he got down on his knees, he let his nails gently rake down the outside of Greg's legs, making the young man's mouth fall open. Once Nick brought his lips level with Greg's cock, he glanced up.

"I've been waiting for this all week," he said. "Just to touch you, give you pleasure..." Greg trembled when he felt the heat of Nick's breath on the head of his cock.

Without further ado, Nick took his lover into his mouth. The sensation of that warmth surrounding him was so strong that Greg had to brace himself against the wall to stay upright. Nick must have learned a few tricks from Hodges at some point; his tongue was doing magical things to the underside of Greg's shaft. The Texan made sure to glance up often enough for Greg to get a good view of how he looked with his lips wrapped around him.

It was by far the most erotic blowjob Greg had ever received—but the way things were going, it looked like it would end all too soon. Nick's efforts were bringing him dangerously close to the edge. Greg decided to try distracting himself by voicing his thoughts aloud.

"When Hodges came home with us that first night, my heart kept racing at the thought of you coming onto him. And you did, Nicky. Seeing you look at each other like that made all of it so real. Part of me wondered if I would feel jealous—but for some reason, because it was him, I didn't. It was just right somehow. Like putting the last piece of a puzzle in place."

Nick hadn't stopped his ministrations, but his eyes were looking up at his lover. From the look in them, Greg could tell he was listening.

"Shit, _yeahhh_, that feels so good..." Greg ran his hands over Nick's closely cropped hair. It wasn't long before his attempts to hold out came to an end. Nick's tongue was just too talented.

When Greg's orgasm struck, it was quick and powerful. He leaned against the wall for support as his body tensed and slackened several times. Nick's mouth didn't leave him until after the last wave of pleasure, at which point he licked his lips and stood up.

"If that was breakfast, I want to know what's for lunch," the Texan joked. Greg rolled his eyes and flipped them around so that it was Nick pinned against the wall. He brought their mouths together in a raw, urgent kiss and slipped his tongue past the older man's lips. Nick responded immediately, allowing Greg into his mouth and letting him dominate the kiss. Delicately, Greg teased and toyed with his lover's tongue. He could taste himself there and it drove him wild.

The pair broke apart several minutes later for breath. The water in the shower was still hot; it had filled the whole bathroom with steam.

"Maybe we should actually shower before we use up all the hot water," Nick suggested.

"What about you, though?" Greg asked, glancing down at the Texan's cock, erect against his stomach.

"Plenty of time for that later."

A playful expression appeared on Greg's face. "But I bet it wouldn't take much to get you off," he said, touching the tip of Nick's penis with his finger. "Just a few strokes..."

That was all the convincing it took. Grinning, Greg wrapped his hand around the man's shaft and slowly began stroking him. He picked up his pace when he heard Nick's breathing hitch. From there it wasn't long before his lover was spilling into his hand with a delicious groan.

The warm water soon washed away the evidence of Nick's pleasure. Greg kissed him one more time before they finally got around to showering.

A little while later, as Greg was drying off and pulling on a pair of jeans, his eyes wandered once more to the clock on his nightstand. It read just after one-thirty.

_Well_, Greg thought to himself, _only six and a half more hours to go._

* * *

The loud electronic music, with its fast tempo and pounding beat, reverberated throughout the club. Strobe lights cast the dance floor in a myriad of electric colours, like some kind of moving Andy Warhol painting. The rest of the club was more dimly lit, with tables and booths nestled around the outer edges of the room and couches toward the back.

A sea of men, most of them young and dressed in bright colours, grinded and swayed to the music. It was actually quite a sight to behold when one paused to take it all in; especially for someone rather out of touch with the club scene.

All in all, Hodges couldn't really explain what he was doing there. It was rare for him to act on impulse. It just wasn't his personality. But with the recent churning tides in his head, he'd developed a newfound interest in spontaneity.

It had everything to do with Nick and Greg, of course. But Hodges promised himself he wasn't going to think about them tonight. That would be counteractive to his goals, which admittedly kept changing since the moment he stepped through the door. There were plenty of pretty faces all around him; boys with sweet eyes and blond hair that looked like models straight out of a magazine. But none of them had Greg's charm. There were plenty of jock-types as well—the kind that probably worked out at the gym for hours every day—but none of them were from Texas and could melt him with a single smile.

Damnit, what had Hodges just told himself? He wasn't going to think about Nick and Greg, whom he'd left at the table yesterday afternoon looking devastated. He wasn't going to think about those looks on their faces, because that wasn't what he was here to do. He was there to forget—and forget he would, even if it took him all night.

The DJ segued into a new song as Hodges approached the bar and ordered himself a drink. He wasn't much for dancing, but drinking he could do. The bartender was a short Asian guy that looked a lot like a gay Archie. He served Hodges his rum and coke then hurried off to tackle the rest of the crowd gathering at the bar.

Hodges weaved through the swarm of people and took one of the staircases up to the landing overlooking the dance floor. For a while, he simply leaned his elbows on the railing and watched the people below. Before he knew it, his drink was gone. Just as he was contemplating going back for another, he felt something graze his arm and turned to investigate.

Beside him stood a young brunette with deep, dark eyes in a Depeche Mode t-shirt. He couldn't be more than twenty-one.

"Can I buy you another?" he asked, gesturing to Hodges' empty glass. All David could think at first was _why does this kid want to buy _me_ a drink?_ Then Hodges realized that he'd been silent for an awkward amount of time. He cleared his throat and agreed.

"What are you drinking?" the brunette asked, leaning in close so they could hear each other over the music. His arm was still touching David's, even though the trace technician was pretending not to notice.

"Scotch," Hodges lied.

"Awesome," he said with a smile. "I'll be back in a minute." He turned around and strode off down the stairs to the bar.

It seemed like the guy was barely gone two minutes (the same song was still playing, Hodges noted with amusement) before he returned to the landing and handed Hodges his scotch on the rocks. In the young man's other hand was a beer, which he cracked open and drank from.

"I'm Leon by the way," he stated. "What's your name?"

Hodges took a mouthful of his drink. "David."

"David..." he repeated slowly, like he enjoyed the sound of the name on his lips. "You looked kind of lonely up here by yourself. You didn't come with anyone?" Was this his way of testing the waters? Checking if Hodges was interested in him?

The trace technician shook his head. "Nope, not tonight."

"Really? A good looking guy like you, here alone? That surprises me." Hodges didn't know what to say to that. "It must be my lucky day," Leon continued, bringing his beer back up to his lips. Hodges _really_ didn't know what to say to that, so he took another gulp of his drink instead.

* * *

Nick paced Hodges' patio anxiously. If he had nails long enough to bite, they would have been bitten down to the wrist. Greg had gone inside to talk with David's mother. Apparently Hodges wasn't home, but at least he mentioned where he'd be going that night. Their ingenious cover, for when she inevitably asked, was that they had an emergency at work and needed his help.

The Texan had been calling Hodges' cell for the past few minutes, but it kept going straight to voicemail. Wherever he was, the man obviously did not want to be reached. That worried Nick more than anything. Hodges never just disappeared off the map. He was the responsible one; always predictable, always accounted for.

Finally, Greg stepped out of the house and closed the door behind him. "She says he went to Marquee," Greg announced.

"What's that?"

"It's a club just off the strip. A _gay_ club. I don't think his mom realizes that last part though."

Nick furrowed his brow at this information. He couldn't picture Hodges at any club, let alone a gay one.

"I'll drive. I know how to get there from here," Greg continued, heading toward the curb where Nick's truck was parked.

"Wait... I want to go just as much as you do, G. But is this really such a good idea? He won't appreciate us just showing up there. What if he's with friends or something?"

Greg cast his lover a skeptical look. "What friends?" he asked. "He wouldn't bring anyone from work to a gay bar, and he doesn't have any other friends."

Nick frowned. "It's more than that, Greg. I... I don't know if I can handle what we might find," he admitted.

"Oh." The young CSI bit his lip. He hadn't thought about that. "Don't you trust him?"

The Texan rubbed at his temple. A headache was beginning to set in. "Under normal circumstances... but these aren't normal circumstances. I'm expecting him to act out of character because he's obviously going through something."

That was a good point, Greg realized—but it still wasn't enough to change his mind. "Even still, I'm going. If you're really that opposed, I can drop you off at home."

"Yeah right. Like I'd really let you go alone."

Greg smiled. "Then get in," he said, hopping into the driver's seat of the truck.

They were on the road immediately, heading toward the strip. Although Nick was a bit wary that his boyfriend already knew the way to the club, he didn't say anything. He forgot sometimes that he hadn't known Greg his whole life, even though it sure felt like it. The rumour around work about Greg's wild past was generally discredited, but the young man himself admitted to Nick that it was true. After dwelling on this for a moment, the Texan finally found the nerve to ask the question on his mind.

"Have you ever been to this place before?"

Greg kept his eyes fixed on the road, but he nodded. "A long time ago, when I first came to Vegas," he answered. "I wasn't even legal; I dunno, I guess it was just the thing to do." He cast a sidelong glance at his lover. "Don't tell me you've never been clubbing Nick Stokes, because I know that's a lie."

"Not at a gay club," said the Texan. "And I'm not judging you, Greg," he added for good measure.

"Tell me that again once we get there," he remarked, which did nothing to calm Nick's nerves.

Once they arrived, it took them forever to find a parking spot because the street was so busy. Even worse, the line-up to get inside the club was huge. Greg didn't seem worried, however. He talked to one of the bouncers at the front door—who actually knew him by name—and got them past the line. It suddenly made Nick feel very old standing next to him.

"Alright, let's find him," said Greg once they were inside. He put on a determined face and stepped into the crowd.

* * *

Hodges didn't know how it happened. One minute Leon was buying him another drink and the next the kid was all over him.

They were still on the landing, but now in a shadowy back corner pressed up against the wall. Hodges didn't even remember how they'd ended up there. His entire night had been so surreal, like some kind of strange lucid dream he had yet to wake from. The alcohol definitely had a lot to do with it—David knew for damn sure that he would never be doing this sober.

What he'd discovered during the short time they'd been making out was that Leon was a biter. He liked to nip at Hodges' lips and then rake over them with his tongue. It was all a bit sloppy to be honest, but Leon was drunk and Hodges didn't mind. It kept his thoughts occupied, at the very least.

When they broke apart for air, the young man's breath was hot against his lips. "I knew you were just waiting for someone to approach you," Leon said into his ear. "I'm glad it was me." In the darkness of their secluded little corner, Hodges couldn't see much of Leon's face, but he could feel him smiling. All he could do was stare back at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "I want to take you home with me, David," the brunette whispered, brushing his lips against the older man's.

Instantly, Hodges froze. It felt as though, for that one moment, the entire world stood still. An unbearable tightness gripped Hodges' chest and his heart raced like it was going to explode. Amidst his body's chaotic reactions, he'd barely even heard what Leon said. He was instead staring over the young man's shoulder at the two familiar figures coming toward them.

When they were close enough for Hodges to see the expressions on their faces, he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made.

"David?" Leon asked, looking confused. He turned around to see what Hodges was staring at and came face to face with one hundred and eighty pounds of angry Texan. Nick shoved the brunette up against the wall like he was a rag doll. The look in his eyes, which Hodges glimpsed from the side, was nothing short of terrifying.

"Run along now, little boy," Nick directed. The threat of what might happen if Leon was noncompliant lurked just under the surface of that statement.

Nick's words proved more effective than a well-landed punch. With one last glance at Hodges, probably wondering what kind of fucked up people he hung out with, Leon hurried away from them and disappeared down the stairs.

With the music blaring all around them, it was far too loud to carry on a serious conversation inside the club. Nick immediately took off toward the staircase. Greg snatched Hodges by the wrist and followed suit.

The Texan took the back exit, which led them to an empty, dimly lit alley. As soon as the door closed behind them, the music from inside the building became nothing but muffled noise with a thumping beat.

Hodges barely had a moment to catch his breath before Nick exploded at him like a lit firecracker.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT?" he thundered. His voice was so loud it even made Greg jump.

Hodges clenched his teeth and seethed. "What do you want me to say?" He glared off down the alley with a scowl, trying to avoid meeting anyone's eyes. "It was exactly what it looked like."

The frown lines in Nick's face grew even deeper. His hands went to his hips, as they often did when he was upset. The look in his eyes was all business. "Were you going to fuck him?"

Truthfully, David didn't know the answer to that question. Even though he tried to keep himself in check, there was some sick part of him that enjoyed seeing Nick angry at him. Without the will to stop himself, he licked his lips and answered, "Maybe."

When Nick heard that, he grabbed Hodges by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the building. "To think, we came here set on doing whatever it would take to win you back... and all the while your tongue is down some teenager's throat. So much for that idea."

"_Nick_, let go of him," Greg insisted, worried that the two of them might hurt each other.

The Texan glossed over his plea like he hadn't even heard it. "You smell drunk," he remarked. Hodges unsuccessfully tried to shove him away. "You know, if you were trying to find a replacement for Greg, you did a shitty job. That kid can't hold a candle to him and you fucking know it."

Inwardly, Hodges did know that was true. Greg would never bite his lip and slobber all over him like a rabid dog. But the idea hadn't been to replace either of them. That was impossible. "If you had any sense in your head you wouldn't have come here tonight," Hodges told them.

"And what—just let you walk out of my life? You know I can't do that. Even when you're being ridiculous," Nick admitted, slowly letting go of the trace technician's shirt. As soon as he was free, Hodges shoved Nick hard in the chest, making the CSI stumble backward in surprise. Greg looked poised to jump between them at any second.

"Fuck you!" Hodges shouted, his voice echoing through the empty alley.

Nick clenched his fists and glowered at the grey-haired man. "Tell me what the hell I did to make you so mad at me!" he demanded. It was then that Nick noticed something strange. The look in Hodges' eyes was more anguish than fury, like he was fighting some kind of inner battle with himself.

"Don't you get it?" David grit. He looked on the verge of _something_; whether it was a breakdown or shoving him again, the Texan wasn't sure. "You made me fall in love with you."

As much as Nick's heart soared to hear those words, he was admittedly confused. "I don't understand... why is that a bad thing?"

The trace technician released a tense breath. "I could deal with my feelings for Greg, okay? They've been there for years. But you... you just stroll into my life all of a sudden and now I'm fucking _in_ _love_ with you, and I care _too_ much..." He trailed off with a pained look on his face.

Not only was Nick stunned by this admission; it literally took his breath away. All of his assumptions had been wrong. It wasn't that Hodges didn't want him; it was _because_ he wanted him. That was the best news the Texan could have hoped for. So many of his fears and anxieties were suddenly lifted.

"Then why fight it?" Greg chimed in, trying to make better sense of the situation. "Why all of this craziness?"

Hodges stared awkwardly at the ground. "I barely feel capable of loving _one_ person properly, let alone two..."

Nick tilted the man's chin up with his fingers until Hodges reluctantly met his gaze. "There's no right or wrong way to love someone. You can only do what comes naturally to you," Nick stated. "And believe me, that would be more than enough for us."

Greg gave an agreeable nod in support. "We want you just the way you are."

The level of vulnerability in Hodges' eyes just then was something neither CSI had ever seen him reveal before. After a moment's pause, Nick did the only thing he could think of—he drew the man into a tight embrace, where the trace technician melted into him instantly.

"Nick... I'm an idiot," Hodges said into his shoulder. "I shouldn't have pushed the two of you away..."

"At least we know why you did it now. But just for future reference, come and talk to us about what's bothering you instead of pulling another stunt like this."

His face still buried in Nick's shoulder, Hodges nodded. He felt Greg's hand on the small of his back, warm and comforting. "What you saw inside... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done it."

"No. You shouldn't have; but if this means we get our Hodges back, I think we'd be willing to forgive and forget," he stated, casting a glance at Greg. "What do you say, G?"

Greg's eyes gleamed with delight. "I say we go home and have make-up sex."

And just like that, the three of them fell back into the ease and comfort that only they could share. The tension, the anger... it all faded away, leaving each of them feeling as though the weight of the world had been lifted off their shoulders. For Greg, it was like sucking in a lungful of fresh air. His sense of relief was such that he couldn't stop smiling even if he tried.

"I'd like that," Hodges replied with a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't think seventeen across is _jug_."

Greg glanced up from his crossword puzzle. The break room was completely deserted aside from himself and Warrick, who was standing behind him, reading the newspaper over his shoulder.

"Then what's another three letter word for a large vase?" Greg asked.

"Urn."

"Oh, right. Thanks." Greg erased _jug _and penciled _urn _in its place.

Warrick took a seat beside him at the table and set down his coffee. He and Sara had just returned from a scene and he looked pretty tired. After a few sips of coffee, however, he began to liven up somewhat.

"So, how's life Sanders?" he inquired. He was actually asking _how are things with Nick?_ though only Greg knew that part. It always struck him as the mark of a good friend that Warrick insisted on checking up on he and Nick's relationship from time to time.

Greg smiled down at the newspaper. "Magnificent, actually."

The older man raised an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to ask," he stated, reclining comfortably in his chair. "But don't get me wrong—I'm glad to hear that."

"You know, you don't have to be wary of swinging by. I don't think I'm as fun to watch the game with, truth be told." Warrick cracked a smile. "If you let me know in advance, I can conspicuously make sure not to be there," Greg offered.

"As long as you're clothed, I really don't mind."

Greg rolled his eyes. A moment later he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket and fished it out. "Finally," he sighed. "I'm gonna go check up on my trace results. Don't do my crossword while I'm gone." Warrick merely cast him an innocent look as the young man hurried out of the room and down the hallway.

When Greg arrived at the trace lab, Hodges was peering into the microscope on his desk, adjusting one of the focus dials. Grissom stood beside him, observing his progress.

"Hey, how'd you get here so fast?" Greg asked his boss. Both heads in the room turned toward him at the sound of his voice.

"I was waiting in the hallway."

"Pacing, more like," Hodges elaborated. "Which was quite distracting by the way. Almost worse than having someone hovering over my—"

Grissom turned a reprimanding eye on the trace technician. Immediately, Hodges snapped his mouth shut.

"Brass just called in a 419 at the Luxor. The press are already starting to congregate, so I need to get there now. I'm taking Sara and Catharine with me, but Nick's going to come in and give you a hand, okay?" Grissom offered the young man an encouraging pat on the shoulder. A moment later his phone began ringing and he excused himself from the room to answer it.

Not that Greg didn't enjoy spending time with his boss, but for obvious reasons, the prospect of getting to work alongside Nick was much more exciting. It'd been far too long since they were paired together on a case.

"Not having the best day?" Greg asked his lover.

Hodges fussed with his lab coat. Ever since Greg stepped into the room, he'd lost interest in the slide he'd been examining. He never could stay focused on work when either of his lovers were around. "A break once in a while would be nice," he said, glaring off in the direction Grissom had gone.

Greg tried not to stare at the grey-haired man, but now that the two of them were alone, he let himself indulge just a little. Ironically for him, Hodges caught the former DNA tech ogling him and cracked a tiny grin.

"Nick would flip if he'd seen that. Luckily I'm not going to mention it to him."

Greg's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What's the catch?"

"Nothing I can discuss here."

Well, that probably meant something dirty. Greg rolled his eyes and tried not to let his curiosity show. "Do you have my results or was that just a clever ruse to lure me here?" he asked.

"A bit of both, actually," said Hodges. He handed the CSI a folder sitting on his desk. "No praise necessary, just doing my job. Though I did number and colour-code the pages for you. Oh, and not to steal your thunder, but I also solved the case."

Greg scanned through the files David had given him. He hated to admit it, but the colour-coding was actually quite helpful. And it looked like the trace technician was right about solving the case.

Well, so much for him and Nick getting to work together.

"I think you'd make a good CSI if you ever decided to step out into the field," Greg told him, closing the folder in his hands. He offered the man a suggestive look. "I could even help train you."

Hodges' lips suddenly felt dry. He wet them with his tongue and said, "Not that field mouse doesn't have a nice ring to it, but I much prefer lab rat."

Greg gave a casual shrug. "Suit yourself." He began towards the door, but then promptly turned around. "My place later, right?"

David nodded. It had become something of a tradition to meet up at Greg's apartment after work. Rarely a night passed where the three of them went their separate ways. He was actually spending so little time at home that his mother kept asking excitedly if he was moving out.

"Hey, it might not be as good as a break, but I'll bring you a coffee," said Greg. "At the very least, it'll buy me some brownie points and give me an excuse to come back here."

"What's the catch?" Hodges asked, purposely repeating his lover's earlier inquiry.

Greg smirked. "Nothing I can discuss here."

* * *

If there was one thing David discovered about himself since Nick and Greg came into his life (other than the existence of his kinky side), it was his aptitude for cooking. Of the three of them, Nick was the clear winner in that department, but he'd been teaching Hodges a thing or two. The rest he'd merely picked up on his own. Now he was the proud creator of a spicy chicken stir fry and refused to shut up about it.

All three of them were curled up in Greg's living room enjoying the fruits of Hodges' labour. For the past few minutes, Greg and Hodges had been horsing around on the couch while Nick was glued to an episode of _Animal Planet _on TV. Greg had been trying to catch pieces of chicken in his mouth—he blamed his lack of success on the fact that David's aim sucked.

"You keep hitting my nose. I'm not trying to inhale them."

Hodges speared another piece of chicken with his fork. "Then stay still and open your mouth wider or the next one's going in your eye," he warned, getting ready for another toss.

His aim was still just as bad. This time the tasty projectile glanced off Greg's cheek and landed squarely on the leg of Nick's khakis.

"You two just volunteered to wash these," said the Texan, eyes still fixed on the television screen.

"One more time," Greg urged the trace technician.

"Forget it. My chicken deserves better than this." Hodges ate up the last few bites on his plate and then set it down on the coffee table.

"It would have been in my stomach by now if you knew how to aim for my mouth," Greg pointed out.

"Oh, I know how to aim for your mouth alright. Just not with food."

Amazingly enough, that comment even got Nick's attention away from the TV. The overt crudeness of it made him chuckle, as did the exasperated look on Greg's face. "Sorry G; you walked right into that one," he said with a shrug of indifference.

Greg frowned. As a master of innuendo, he should definitely have seen that one coming. "Touché," he muttered, conceding defeat. "Then I guess you won't mind putting your money where my mouth is." He punctuated this statement by slithering off the couch and parking himself in front of Hodges. The grey-haired man unconsciously licked his lips at the display.

Nick was watching the two of them with rapt attention. Not even his favourite television show could top the sight of his lovers about to indulge in one another.

When David parted his legs, the young CSI rested back on his heels to observe. "Well I suppose I can't resist an offer like that," Hodges teased, popping open his belt. "Just remember to close your eyes, darling."

Greg smiled. He ran his hands up and down David's thighs as the trace technician extracted himself from his clothing. Nick had magically drifted toward the action at some point; his lips found the sensitive skin of Hodges' neck. Simultaneously, Nick's hands worked open the buttons of the man's shirt and began roaming underneath the fabric.

When Greg took David's rapidly hardening cock into his mouth, the grey-haired man groaned. He struggled to arch further into that thrilling, all-consuming heat, but Greg's firm grip on his thighs kept Hodges at his mercy.

Ever since their amazing night of make-up sex less than a week ago, keeping their hands off each other had become a virtual impossibility. The sex happened everywhere now—in the kitchen (usually with someone bent over one of the counters), in their cars, even public bathrooms. Basically wherever three virile young men could possibly get horny, which covered just about everywhere.

Greg suddenly got an idea. He decided to experiment with some of the techniques Nick employed on him that one time in the shower. First, he swirled his tongue around the swollen head and then licked up the underside, which made Hodges squirm in his seat. Nick was still going to town on the man's neck, only now, he also had one of Hodges' nipples trapped between his thumb and forefinger. With the slightest change in pressure, he could make David whimper, buck desperately against Greg's hold, or even cry out if Nick decided to twist the hardened nub ever so slightly. And _fuck_ was that last option ever tempting, especially with his eyes glued to the lascivious sight of Greg's lips wrapped around that heated flesh.

It was then that Hodges turned to look at him, his breathing laboured. The Texan drew him into a kiss and let them leisurely explore each other's mouths, enjoying the way Hodges liked to moan and have Nick swallow up the sound. The two of them only separated once the trace technician threw his head back and seized Greg's hair in a death grip, signalling the onset of his climax.

He moaned Greg's name as he spilled both into and onto the young man's mouth. At the last minute, Greg decided not to close his eyes after all. He was too interested in watching the expressions on David's face as he came.

A few minutes passed in which the only sound in the room was Hodges' ragged breathing. Once his heart rate returned to normal, the grey-haired man pulled Greg up into his lap and thanked him with a kiss that tasted like chicken and hot sauce.

"Hey Greggo, don't you have something to ask David?" said Nick once their kiss ended. Hodges couldn't help but cast a suspicious glance between the two CSIs.

Greg, on the other hand, squirmed excitedly in his lap like a champagne cork ready to burst. "Why yes I do," he replied with a grin. Hodges raised an eyebrow at him. He still had no idea what was going on, and the anticipation was building.

"Then ask away."

After a nervous glance at Nick, Greg bit his lip and turned back to the trace technician. "Well, I've been thinking..."

"Uh-oh," said David.

Greg smacked him in the shoulder and continued. "...that since you spend so much time here already, and you're so neat and tidy, which the place could really use... and you know, also because I love you..." He paused awkwardly. "Would you like to move in?"

It was possibly the cutest thing anyone had ever said to Hodges. A warm sensation spread through his chest—it sort of felt like eating hot oatmeal, only better. Much, _much_ better.

"For real?" was all he could think to ask. He didn't even care that it was a stupid question, or that the phrase sounded ridiculous coming from his lips.

Greg laughed and nodded. "I thought that was implied, but yes." He held the man by the chin and kissed him affectionately on the forehead. "Come and live with me," he said. "For real."

Hodges glanced beside him at Nick. The Texan was watching them with one arm draped over the back of the couch. He looked so casual that it was almost cause for suspicion. "You're okay with this?" Hodges asked him.

"I was the one that suggested it," Nick revealed, amusement dancing in his eyes. "My apartment's too small and it's a lot farther from work. Hence why Greg can't get rid of me."

"Yeah," Greg quipped, "assuming I would ever want to... which I wouldn't." He turned back to Hodges and wrapped his arms around the man's neck. "So what do you say, David?"

The trace technician smiled. "I'm trying to think of something more clever than _a hundred times yes_, but nothing's coming to mind."

Greg beamed so brightly it looked like he might explode.

"Bedroom. Now," he told them.

Nick laughed and rose from the couch. Instead of letting Greg climb off his lap, Hodges simply picked him up and carried him into the bedroom after the Texan. Greg clung onto him like a monkey in fear of being dropped, but David actually made it all the way to the bed with him before letting him down softly onto the mattress.

"When did _you_ get so strong?" Nick teased, wrapping an arm around the grey-haired man's waist from behind.

Hodges rolled his eyes, though his body leaned into Nick's touch. "We can't all have arms like yours, Stokes."

"That's true. There would be too much competition."

On the bed, Greg rolled onto his stomach and snorted with laughter. "Someone's full of it today." What he didn't expect was for Nick to jump him a moment later and pin him to the bed in that position. The older CSI snatched Greg's wrists and held them to the mattress while his body weight kept the rest of him subdued.

"The only one that's going to be _full of it_ is you, baby."

Greg could practically picture the smirk on Nick's face. Somewhere off to the side, Hodges was sniggering. Greg had a sneaking suspicion that the two of them were conspiring together now that he couldn't see their faces.

Frowning, the Norwegian tried wiggling out from underneath his lover, but all that did was grind himself up into Nick—at which point he felt the man's hardness against his backside. And _christ_, was Nick ever hard. Even through both of their clothes, his cock felt like solid steel.

Just then, the Texan's weight suddenly lifted and two sets of hands flipped Greg onto his back. That was when Nick and Hodges, working together like a well-oiled machine, began to peel the young man's clothing off piece by piece.

Despite how many times they'd seen each other naked, being slowly exposed to their eyes was still an exhilarating feeling. Watching those two gazes explore every curve and line of his body made Greg's face grow hot. He could already feel the flesh between his legs begin to swell and harden.

Again, Greg was flipped over, placing him back on his stomach. The head of his cock dug pleasurably into the sheets below, making him long to thrust against them for more friction. Before he could do so, a set of fingertips ghosting along his back distracted him.

As far as he could tell, the fingers belonged to David. They purposely lingered on Greg's burn scars, which by now were faded and barely noticeable from far away.

Hodges couldn't stop staring at them. "Does it ever tingle?" he asked, still examining the scarred flesh.

"Once in a while."

Hodges remembered the explosion that had caused those burns. The incredible shock wave that rocked the building; the sound of screams and shattering glass. As scary as the actual blast was, the worst part came afterward. He would never forget the sight of a barely-conscious Greg being loaded onto a stretcher and driven away in an ambulance. It still haunted him just thinking about it.

Before David realized what he was doing, he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the scarred patch of skin. Startled, Greg let out a shaky breath and turned his head to look at the man.

From out of nowhere, Greg suddenly asked, "Did you have feelings for me back then?"

"Since the first time I saw you," said Hodges. For whatever reason, he wasn't afraid to admit that anymore. "I passed by your lab, my first day on the job. Your hair was blonder back then and you had one of those ridiculous shirts of yours on. I remember asking myself: _who does this kid think he is? _But then you looked up at me and..." He trailed off, lost in the memory of seeing those charming brown eyes for the first time.

Greg was speechless. He sat up and drew closer to the grey-haired man. Beside them, Nick couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene. It was so poignant and beautiful, like something out of an old black and white movie. He continued watching as the young CSI took David's head in his hands.

"I love you," Greg told him softly, drawing their faces closer together.

The honesty of those three words gave David the courage to look into Greg's eyes and do what he hadn't been able to before. "I love you too... _both_ of you." He turned and held out his hand to Nick, who smiled and let himself be pulled in close.

"Show me," the Texan purred. His eyes blazed with something fervent and unrestrained—something different than the desire Hodges was used to seeing on his. He wasn't sure what to make of it.

"How?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Finger me."

Hodges' heart skipped a beat. "W-what?"

"Make me come without touching my cock," Nick elaborated, blinking earnestly. "Please, David. I'm ready for this. I promise."

God, why did Nick have to beg and say his name all sexy like that? Hodges was only human. He felt he should be saying no, but his ability to resist was quickly waning. Still divided, he cast a quick glance at Greg for a much-needed second opinion.

Greg was gently rubbing the back of Nick's hand with his thumb. "If that's what Nicky wants," he began, "then I'm on board."

David bit his lip. Perhaps he was being overly cautious. While understandably fearful about crossing another line, he reminded himself that Nick was _asking _for this. Or rather, _begging_ him for it. Maybe he really was ready. That was a thought Hodges hadn't even considered.

After a moment, David sighed in acquiescence. "You'd better lie down then," he instructed, making a quick trip to the nightstand for lube. Smiling, Greg hurriedly helped Nick out of his clothes, tossing them into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Following that, the Texan arranged himself face-up in the middle of the bed. Hodges found himself pleased by this visual; he couldn't help but let his hands wander up the man's strong, muscled legs. When they parted for him, there was no uncertainty or second-guesses in those brown eyes. Nick was openly inviting Hodges' fingers to enter him—and god was it ever erotic. The knowledge that no one—not even Greg—had done this to Nick before made the trace technician positively faint with desire.

The rather obvious bulge straining against the front of Hodges' jeans became impossible to ignore at that point; it drew Greg over on his knees. Then the next thing Hodges knew, his fly was being yanked open. "I want these off," said Greg. It was a half-whine half-order that only served to arouse his grey-haired lover even further.

He was in no mood to wait, it seemed. As soon as Hodges lifted his hips, Greg tugged off the jeans, leaving him naked from the waist down.

"God, I love it when you don't wear boxers."

Hodges smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Why do you think I never wear them anymore?"

Greg's breath caught in his throat. "Fuck. You're making me so hard..."

"Then get up here and let me touch you," Nick cut in. As fast as he could, Greg crawled over and curled against Nick's side. When he felt the Texan's hand encircle his cock, he closed his eyes and arched into the touch.

Meanwhile, between Nick's legs, Hodges had already slicked two of his fingers and was now doing the same to the man's entrance. "Are you ready?" he asked a moment later, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of his lover's thigh.

"I'm ready. Please..."

Hodges nodded and brought a finger to Nick's entrance. He brushed his fingertip across the small, puckered hole several times before slowly breaching the tight ring of muscle and sinking in up to his first knuckle.

Even though Hodges' finger was only an inch inside of him at the most, Nick's discomfort was evident right away. He clenched his jaw tightly and his hand on Greg's cock stilled.

"Are you alright?" Hodges asked, studying the man's face. "If you want me to stop—"

"No. Keep going." His entire body remained tensed against the intrusion, but he at least sounded confident in wanting to continue.

The trace technician offered him another minute to adjust before burying his finger deeper—almost the entire way this time. Thankfully, David had the forethought to use a generous quantity of lube, which did help ease the amount of resistance, but Nick was still painfully tight. As he let Nick acclimatize once more, Hodges' thoughts soon strayed to what it might feel like having _another_ part of his body buried in that slick heat. To finally be inside Nick was something he'd been lusting after since their first encounter. Admittedly, he'd pictured it over and over again in his mind; how amazing it would be thrusting into that tight, virgin channel, feeling the larger man clenching around him, writhing beneath him...

David's cock jumped excitedly at the thought.

"Look at me, Nicky," said Greg, bringing an abrupt end to Hodges' fantasy. The Texan, who had previously been watching what David's hand was doing, turned to gaze at Greg. The next moment, their lips met.

Greg kissed him slowly, passionately, hoping to help distract from whatever pain Nick might be feeling down below. It seemed to be working too. Nick was much more relaxed when the second finger went in—at which point his muscles finally began yielding to the Hodges. It was still a snug fit, as it undoubtedly would be for some time, but at least the difficult part was over. Now came the fun.

The trace technician grinned. He was going to make Nick come so hard he'd be seeing stars.

The first time he brushed the man's prostate, Nick's eyes flew open and a startled noise caught in his throat. He was still naive to the joys of prostate stimulation, but that would soon change. Hodges used more pressure the second time, which sent a visible ripple of pleasure through Nick's body. With Hodges' attention focused on that small bundle of nerves, the CSI was soon digging his heels into the mattress and bucking his hips.

Greg was in a similar state of arousal. Nick's slow, forceful strokes were bringing him dangerously close to the edge. Yet, every time he thought he might come, Nick would pull his hand away and deny him release. It made the young man grit his teeth and growl in frustration, but it also turned him on—a lot. And that was usually a dangerous combination when it came to Greg Sanders.

"Do you want to get off, Greggo?" Nick asked. He was panting and out of breath from what Hodges' fingers were doing to him, but somehow he still managed to sound authoritative.

"Yes!" Greg keened, trying to thrust into the Texan's hand which had just been taken away from him again. "Sadist... stop torturing me..."

"Then you'd better ask me nicely."

Under different circumstances, Greg might have played along awhile longer, but right now he was too horny to argue. "_Please_, Nicky," he rasped, "please will you make me come?" God, hearing himself talk like that was not helping in the relief department.

That seemed to appease the older CSI. He wrapped his hand around Greg once more and jerked him off in a series of rough strokes.

"Oh fuck..." Greg thrust into his lover's hand, craving that last bit of friction that would send him into euphoria, and came even harder than he anticipated. Two sets of eyes watched him as he rode out the last waves of pleasure and finally fell still against Nick's side.

Hodges' hands were still busy at work; they wiggled inside of Nick, nudging his prostate as often as he could tolerate without being overwhelmed too soon. Nick's cock, erect and leaking pre-come, was a clear indication of how close he was.

As he continued focusing on Nick, Hodges felt Greg's hand snake around his penis from behind. The young man's fingers were slick with what Hodges realized, after a quick downward glance, was Greg's come.

"This will be twice in the past hour I've brought you off," he pointed out, pressing his lips to the trace technician's neck. "I expect adequate compensation." Hodges merely rolled his eyes.

From that time forward, all eyes were on Nick. Hands fisted in the sheets, a light sheen of sweat covering his face—oh, he was on the edge alright. All it took to push him over was a bit more pressure from Hodges. Then, with a sudden gasp, Nick shuddered and spilled over his stomach. The way he clenched around Hodges' fingers, the rocking of his hips—it in turn had Hodges coming into Greg's skilful hand, which was now slick with both of their come. The arm coiled around his waist kept David steady through the waves of pleasure that seemed to never end.

Exhausted and spent, Hodges collapsed at Nick's side. Greg did the same on the other, trapping their lover in a warm and slightly sticky post-sex sandwich. That earned the two of them a heartfelt laugh, as well as a snuggle.

"No showers?" Nick inquired.

"Sleep first," Greg mumbled. Hodges echoed his sentiment with a drowsy nod and curled up under the Texan's arm. All he remembered after that was closing his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

The bowling alley a couple of blocks from the lab was rather desolate at nine in the morning—but then again, they'd expected that. It was actually a lot of fun, having the place all to themselves. More room to spread out and talk, their pick of any bowling ball they wanted, and no one to see Hodges embarrass himself with a record number of gutter balls.

Catherine, as she often liked to do, organized their little bowling excursion as another group outing for the night shift crew. Their last had been some time ago—in fact, it was the time they'd all gone out for drinks and Greg ended up molesting Hodges in the bathroom. That was definitely a memory he wouldn't soon forget.

Ironically, watching everyone else bowl was even more entertaining than the activity itself. Some people, like Archie, Sara and Nick, were good, while others, like Henry, and funniest of all, Hodges, were dreadful. Greg wasn't too bad himself; he was actually at the top of the scoreboard for a period of time. At least until Sara got five strikes in a row and left everyone else in the dust.

In between turns, Greg ended up chatting with Doc Robbins about his band for a little while, and then to Sara about the most recent episode of Dexter. It was nice getting the chance to spend a little time with everyone outside of work for once. That was just about the only place Greg saw them anymore.

After blowing his chance for a spare, Greg's cell phone began ringing. Considering he was with everyone from work, it was probably his mother checking in. He excused himself and hurried outside the building for some privacy and fresh air.

It was indeed his mother; Greg talked to her for a little bit, asked how Papa Olaf was doing, then said goodbye. As he stuffed the phone back into his pocket, Nick stepped outside looking for him.

"There you are," he said, hurrying over. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, that was just my mom making sure I'm still alive," he replied, shaking his head. "She worries about me too much. It's why I can't tell her I'm out in the field now. I don't want to give her a heart attack." Greg leaned against the wall, casting the Texan a guilty look. "I know that's horrible..."

"No, Greggo, I understand why you're hesitant." Nick's voice was soft, patient. "But you've been out in the field for a while now. Don't you think she should know?"

"I guess," Greg replied with a shrug. He didn't really feel like talking about his mother anymore, so he switched subjects. "So, is Sara still whooping you?"

"Hey now, she wasn't _whooping_ me," he objected, pressing close to Greg. His hands rested against the wall on either side of his lover's head, trapping him there. "You'd better watch your mouth young man."

Greg rolled his eyes, enjoying the feel of Nick's body pressed up against his. He leaned in for a kiss and the Texan placed a fairly chaste one on his lips. "What was that?" he exclaimed in disappointment. "I've been waiting all night to get you alone somewhere and that's all I get?"

Although that reply brought a smile to Nick's face, his response was not the one Greg wanted to hear. "We're in public, G. Take it easy."

"It's just a kiss, Nicky. I'm not asking you to bend me over your truck and fuck me."

The older man laughed and heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, you win." He captured Greg's lips and took his time dipping his tongue into that warm, familiar mouth. It was nice, just for that moment, not having to hide their relationship away. Almost like a taste of being normal.

It wasn't long before Greg was kissing him back harder, rougher; at which point Nick pulled away.

"Sorry," said Greg, colour staining his cheeks. He hadn't meant to do that. It was just so easy getting lost in the moment with Nick. A thunderstorm could be going on around them and he wouldn't even notice.

"Don't be," Nick replied, licking his lips. His lover's impatience was something he actually found endearing at times like this.

Greg cast a fleeting look in the direction of the doorway. "Maybe we should go inside before people start wondering what we're doing out here."

The Texan grinned. "Let 'em wonder," he scoffed, to his own surprise. "I want one more minute with you."

Greg's eyes flickered with delight. In what universe could he ever say no to that? "Hodges will certainly be jealous when he finds out we snuck in some sexy time," the young man remarked with a laugh. Nick was just about to make an amusing comment on Hodges' bowling skills when he was cut off by a voice nearby.

"Greg?" It was Sara. Oh god no.

There was no time to back away from each other. Nick's hands were still trapping Greg against the wall, and their faces were close together. It was an intimate position that spoke of lovers rather than friends—not something they could explain their way out of.

Immediately, Sara stopped in her tracks. Her eyes went wide, and really, who could blame her for being surprised? There was no way she could have prepared herself for a discovery like that.

Nick's hands fell from the wall; not that there was much point by then. She'd already seen them, and now she knew.

"Nick?"

Awkwardly, the Texan stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sara's eyes remained on him for a moment, studying the mortified look on his face, before returning to the younger of the two men. When their eyes met, Greg couldn't tell if she looked angry or disappointed.

"You sneaky bastard. All this time, it's _Nick_ you've been seeing?" For some reason, Greg couldn't find his voice. Even if he could, he wouldn't have known what to say. "Greg!"

"I'm sorry!" he blurted out. "We couldn't let it get out to anyone at work... it's not that I didn't want to tell you."

"Jesus," she muttered, staring off into the distance. "That's why you two are always carpooling."

A sheepish look spread over Greg's face. He wished desperately that the two of them didn't have to sneak around and hide their relationship. If so, he could have told Sara the truth a long time ago and none of this would be happening.

Beside him, Nick cleared his throat. "Listen, Sara—" he began, but was promptly cut off.

"Don't start with me, Nick. You and I are going to have a talk soon; you can count on that." Her tone was sharp. Nick knew enough not to challenge it even if he wanted to. After that, Sara merely shook her head and went back inside.

"Shit," Greg breathed. He was angry; mostly at himself for coaxing Nick into kissing him in public. It was almost the same as when Catherine caught him and Hodges, only Greg didn't feel half as bad about that. This time it was much different, because unlike Catherine, Sara was a close friend. They confided in each other. She probably didn't think much of him now—not after finding out he'd been lying to her all that time.

A strong sense of disquiet settled within his chest.

"This was my fault for following you out here," Nick stated with a frown. When Greg tried to convince the man otherwise, he refused to hear it. For whatever reason, Nick was determined to shoulder the blame and Greg was helpless to change his mind.

"It wasn't fair for her to talk to you that way," said Greg. "I think she may have jumped to some false conclusions because she's been worried about me."

"It's fine, G. Really." He offered the young man a half-hearted smile. "Let's just go back inside, okay?"

The Texan certainly didn't seem fine, but Greg was reluctant to press the subject. "Yeah, alright," he replied, following his lover back inside the building.

* * *

Surprisingly, Hodges didn't bring much stuff with him at all. On the day Greg set aside to help him move in, they only ended up making two trips down to David's car—one for his clothes and the other for his cat, Little Kobe, who he of course couldn't leave behind.

The short-haired cat had a beautiful smoky-grey coat of fur, not unlike the colour of Hodges' hair, ironically enough. As soon as the trace technician opened the door to the carrying cage, Mr. K sprang from it like a bat out of hell. He then proceeded to investigate the apartment with due diligence, exploring each new room as Greg and Hodges settled in the bedroom and began unpacking.

"You can have the top two drawers if you want," said Greg, gesturing to his dresser. "I'll make some space in the closet too."

"Are you sure?" Hodges asked, opening the topmost drawer and peering at its contents. In response, Greg shot him an exasperated look that said _yes, I'm sure_.

"Like I'm going to let you live out of suitcases," he scoffed. "When I asked you to live with me, I was offering to share everything I have with you—including wardrobe space."

Slowly, a smile spread across David's face. He pulled an armful of t-shirts out of the drawer. "Where should I put these, then?"

Greg cast his eyes around the room. "Just toss them on the bed for now," he said. "I'll find a place for them later."

Nodding, Hodges placed the stack of shirts neatly on the edge of the bed, then went back for the rest. "Jeez, could you own any more t-shirts?" he remarked with raised eyebrows. Then, when he went to grab the second pile, something lying at the bottom of the drawer caught Hodges' eye. It looked like a small Ziploc bag of some kind.

"Greg?" He picked it up and frowned at the contents. "Is this what I think it is?"

The young man's eyes went wide. "Uh, weed?" he said, biting his lip. "Wow, I forgot that was there." Hodges continued frowning at the item. "Oh come on, it's just weed," Greg told him, snatching the bag from the trace technician's hand.

"Nick would kill you."

"Yeah well Nick's not here, is he? And you're not going to tell him," said Greg. All Hodges could do was cross his arms over his chest and watch Greg root around in one of his desk drawers.

Hodges wasn't a huge geek. He'd done a few drugs in college. What disturbed him about the current situation was the fact that Greg had evidently been doing this in secret for some time. Obviously he wouldn't want to tell Nick in fear of the man's reaction, but why hadn't he at least told David?

When the CSI returned from his desk with a package of rolling papers and a grinder in hand, David's jaw dropped a little. "Really, Greg—right now?" he asked as his lover took a seat on the bed.

Greg spread his supplies out in front of him. "Why not? We should celebrate your first official night living here."

Hodges was clearly not sold on the idea, and it showed on his face. Greg didn't leave it at that, however. He slithered over to the man with a lustful look in his eyes. "It'd be fun, Davy. We could get stoned, lay in bed together... or just fuck like rabbits if you prefer." With a smirk, Greg kissed up the side of his lover's neck, and a shiver ran down Hodges' spine. "Don't tell me that doesn't sound appealing."

God, that _did_ sound appealing. But then again, David was notoriously weak-willed when it came to denying Greg the things he wanted. Despite this, the trace technician wore a rather skeptical expression.

"And if I don't want to?" he inquired.

The CSI took a step back. Immediately Hodges lamented the loss of warmth on his neck. "Then you'll be missing all the fun," Greg replied with a shrug, "but that's your choice."

Hodges clenched his jaw and watched his lover return to the bed. Sometime during their conversation, Mr. K had wandered into the room. He meowed and rubbed up against his owner's leg until David sighed and picked him up.

"I bet he finds it weird here," said Greg from across the room. He'd already started with the grinder. "Do you think he's adjusting okay so far?"

Mr. K purred happily as the spot behind his ear was scratched. "Well, he hasn't destroyed any of your furniture yet, so I suppose that's a good sign." Once Mr. K looked content, Hodges set him down and took a seat across from his lover on the bed.

"Greg?"

The young man glanced up from his undertaking. "Yeah?"

"How often do you do this?"

"Not on a regular basis if that's what you think," he stated, popping open the grinder. There was a defensive edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. "Oh come on, that's why you're asking, isn't it? To find out if I'm a total stoner?"

Hodges' face softened. "No, I didn't mean to imply that. I was just curious."

Greg gave a quick little nod, but he didn't say anything after that. He was too immersed in rolling the joint, which ended up looking quite professional when all was said and done. Feeling neglected, Little Kobe hopped up onto the bed to investigate what was going on. Hodges had to direct him away from Greg's work area when he got a little too interested in the Ziploc bag, which at least got a laugh out of both men.

"Listen, I didn't mean to sound pushy before," said Greg, reaching into his nightstand for a lighter. He took a moment to lean against the headboard and light the joint. "I'm not offended or anything if you don't want to."

"I do," Hodges told him. "Want to, I mean." There was no denying the way Greg's eyes lit up at those words. "I just feel like Nick would be disappointed, that's all."

The CSI offered him an empathetic look. "C'mere," he urged, shifting so that Hodges could lean back against him. Once the trace technician was snuggled up to him, Greg's arms encircled his waist. "There's no reason to worry. Nick's not going to find out." He rested his chin on David's shoulder and held the joint out in front of the man.

Now, more than ever, Hodges felt acutely aware of how long it'd been since he last did this. Nevertheless, he accepted the joint, brought it to his lips and inhaled. He let the smoke linger in his lungs for several moments before letting it out through his mouth.

"Mmm. I had no idea the Full David Hodges Experience included breaking the law. Maybe you're cooler than I give you credit for," Greg joked, receiving the joint from his lover.

"Funny."

It wasn't long before the routine of passing the joint back and forth between them began to yield results. Hodges let his head fall back onto Greg's shoulder and insisted that the Norwegian bring the joint to his lips for him, which he did. He didn't want to move his arms—they felt strangely heavy for some reason, and it felt so much nicer when Greg did everything for him.

"I'm glad you did this with me." The grey-haired man could feel Greg's smile against his temple. "Nicky wouldn't understand, but I wish we could share this with him too..."

As soon as Nick's name was mentioned, Hodges began picturing the man vividly in his mind. It was so lucid, almost like a movie, and he didn't want to close his eyes in fear that it might go away.

"I like Nick's hands... and his arms," Hodges declared. He couldn't figure out why he'd chosen to say that aloud.

Greg laughed and took another hit from the joint, which was nearly finished by then. "Do you want the last toke?" he asked, but David shook his head. "Or are you gone already?"

Hodges didn't know whether or not he was 'gone', whatever that meant; but for some reason it made him laugh.

"Okay then, I'll take that as a yes," said Greg, inhaling from the joint one last time before ashing it in a cup on his nightstand. After that, his arms slipped back around Hodges' waist and squeezed him tight. It felt so good, just being close to him, feeling the warmth of his body. "God, what a good idea this was. I have good ideas, don't I?" he mused aloud.

"Yeah. _Super-duper_ ideas. Like me moving in."

Greg lapped at the trace technician's earlobe. "Mmm, yeah. Now you're trapped with me. And I can feel you up whenever I want," he laughed, letting one of his hands wander down to his lover's crotch. "Like now."

When Greg's hand curled around him through his jeans, David's breath caught in his throat. Every part of his body was suddenly set ablaze with heat and longing.

"I want you." Greg's fingers popped open the button of the jeans and unzipped Hodges' fly, all the while breathing hotly into the man's ear. Greedily, his hand slipped beneath both jeans and boxers to grasp the hardening flesh beneath. "I want to fuck you so badly," he growled.

Hodges stripped off his shirt right away. The thought of Greg inside of him... he wasn't even aware how badly he wanted that until now.

Next to go were his pants, and which point he swivelled around and helped Greg undress as well. Then, with their clothes strewn haphazard across the bed, Greg stared into his eyes and said, "In my lap."

Again, there was no hesitation from Hodges. He climbed into the young man's lap and kissed him like his life depended on it.

From there, everything seemed to move in slow motion. Not only was Greg's first thrust into his lover deep and devastating, but there was so much more time to savour it. The way Hodges moaned—loud and entirely unconcerned about disturbing Greg's neighbours—had him spellbound, and that was just the tip of the iceberg. The intensity of what they were feeling only grew when Greg found just the right method to rigorously attack his lover's sweet spot.

"You like that?"

"Yes," Hodges breathed, throwing his arms around Greg's neck. When the CSI dragged his tongue over one of David's nipples, he held him even tighter. "Fuck, Greg..."

Craving a change in positions, Greg laid the trace technician on his back. This gave him a much better view of his cock sliding in and out of the man. "Oh shit," he moaned, his voice ragged. Hodges had just purposely clenched around him to create more friction. "Do that again." Hodges was quick in yielding to his lover's command, which sent a thrilling sense of dominance up Greg's spine. "I like it when you're a kiss-ass in this context."

Amusement flickered through David's eyes. Intent on taking it to the next level, he began bucking his hips up to meet each of Greg's thrusts.

"You know, I can do whatever I want with you right now," Greg taunted, an ominous look in his eyes. "Tie you up, blindfold you... make you wear the French maid costume..."

Maybe it was the weed egging him on—or maybe he was just really horny. Either way, Hodges' mind took on a life of its own. "Greg, please... I want you to bite me," he implored.

There was absolutely no hesitation from the CSI. "Where?" he whispered against the man's lips.

"My chest."

Greg flashed a wicked smile and lowered his head toward the area. His lips brushed across a nipple before coming to a stop just beneath his lover's milky collarbone. After a tantalizing pause, he bit down on the flesh there and emphasized the gesture with a particularly brutal thrust. This left Hodges arching into him, toes curled, crying out in both pleasure and pain.

Soon enough, the trace technician's chest was littered with Greg's teeth impressions, all of which stood out in red against the paleness of his skin. It was amazing to watch Greg once he got going—he would move from spot to spot and attach himself there like a leech. His teeth felt sharp and powerful and Hodges still couldn't figure out why he was enjoying this so much.

"Harder," David pleaded breathlessly. "Make me bleed..."

Greg's gaze darted up to his lover's face. There was a strange sort of fire in his eyes that shot straight to Hodges' cock. "Kinky," he stated. "I like that." Never was there a more willing participant than Greg; it was a quality Hodges loved about him.

Obligingly, the CSI pinned David's hands to the bed and sunk his teeth into that smooth flesh once more. He knew instantly that he'd punctured the skin; firstly because of his lover's loud, sudden shout, and secondly by the metallic taste seeping into his mouth.

Kinky was absolutely right. The act was so twisted—so much something Nick would frown upon—that Greg climaxed right then and there. The gratification of coming inside Hodges, bareback no less (they'd forgotten all about a condom), was unparalleled. Though truthfully, if Greg had to chose his favourite moment of the night, it would be the very next one.

He came away from the broken patch of skin with his mouth still open slightly, blood staining his lips. Greg couldn't help but swipe at the coppery fluid with his tongue, at which point Hodges looked about ready to devour him.

And in fact, before Greg could lick the majority off, David pulled him into a searing, open-mouthed kiss that smeared the blood between their lips.

"Mmm, you keep surprising me," Greg hummed, reaching down to grasp the man's penis. At the same time, he felt Hodges' fingers in his hair.

"Better that than boring you, right?"

"You could never bore me, David." The lab tech was unable to tear his eyes away from the small traces of blood remaining on his lover's ravaged lips. "Well, not _in bed_, anyway," Greg added with a good-natured wink.

Hodges chuckled, thrusting into Greg's hand. His entire body felt consumed by the pleasure, like each nerve, muscle and bone were directly connected to his cock. It was only moments later when he exploded onto his stomach, skin alive with sensation, moaning Greg's name.

In the aftermath, he could feel his body trembling and his chest heaving. Greg gently guided him through the comedown, stroking him through to the last few blissful shudders.

Hodges' eyes remained closed for a moment. He looked so peaceful like that, which was in stark contrast to the bloody teeth impression on his chest. It was only shallow—nothing serious by any means—but it looked painful nonetheless. "Does it hurt?" Greg asked.

Smiling and relaxed, Hodges opened his eyes and nodded. "It felt good though."

Knowingly, Greg rolled his eyes. "Tell me that again when you're_ not_ stoned and I might believe you," he said, eyes tracing a drop of blood that had trickled down his lover's chest. "Man, it does look sexy though..."

For the rest of the day, they blew off unpacking and did indeed fuck like rabbits. When all was said and done, there wasn't much left in either of them. But it didn't matter. Everything was perfect.

* * *

Hodges woke up that evening feeling like a zombie. All of his muscles ached, and that was just the beginning. The bite marks on his chest looked like a horror show; the deepest one throbbed and was caked with dried blood.

Beside David, his lover slept soundly with Little Kobe curled up near his head. Watching the steady rise and fall of Greg's chest was a nice momentary distraction from the state of the bedroom. Somehow during the commotion earlier in the day, everything on the bed had been knocked to the floor. The clothes Greg was planning to relocate and the clothes Hodges had been unpacking were now indecipherable—they littered the floor in several crumpled piles. The not-so-secret neat freak inside of Hodges was having a meltdown.

To escape the mess, he dressed and headed into the kitchen. Partway through whipping up a batch of pancakes, Hodges heard a key turned in the door. He glanced up to find Nick stepping into the apartment, already dressed for work.

"Hey," said the Texan, pressing a kiss to Hodges' temple. He peered at the stack of pancakes on the counter. "Damn, those smell really good."

"Help yourself, I'm making extra for Greg anyway."

Nick decided to take him up on that offer. Once his plate was stacked, he took a seat at the breakfast bar. "Yeah, speaking of Greggo, where is he?"

Hodges tilted his head toward the bedroom. "Still asleep."

"Does that mean the two of you had fun?" Nick took a bite of pancake and waggled his eyebrows at the other man. When Hodges gave a demure smirk in response, it made him even more curious. "Care to share with the rest of the class? I need details here," Nick prodded.

The smirk was still on David's face as he scooped the last pancake out of the frying pan. "Ask Greg when he wakes up. I'm sure he'll be thrilled to tell you." After placing the frying pan in the sink, Hodges switched off the stove. When he glanced up from what he was doing, he noticed that Nick had stopped eating. His eyes were zeroed in on Hodges' chest.

"David, are you bleeding?" he asked, rising to his feet in concern. Anxiously, Hodges glanced down at his chest. A blotted patch of blood from his bite mark had seeped through his white t-shirt. Nick had already rounded the bar and was staring at him. "What happened—are you alright?"

"I'm fine Nick," he replied, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "It's nothing."

The Texan didn't buy that for a second. "What the hell happened?" He took a step closer and reached for the hem of the t-shirt. "Let me see, maybe I can—"

Nick stopped himself mid-sentence when David shrunk away from his hand. Even for a CSI, he really didn't know _what_ to think at that point.

"David," he said sternly. "I'm not playing around. Let me see."

Already backed up against the counter, the trace technician had nowhere to go when Nick reached for his shirt a second time. "I don't think you should do that," he said. His voice was barely even a whisper.

Unfortunately, Nick was not so easily dissuaded. Hodges didn't stop him when he lifted the shirt to reveal the reddened, bite-marked skin beneath. Nick remained absolutely stony-faced. There was no way to tell what he was thinking until he lifted the shirt far enough to see the worst bite of them all.

When he spoke, his tone was grave. "Greg did this to you?"

Hodges had known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that Nick would inevitably see the marks; but this was too soon. He was hoping his lover wouldn't have to find out this way.

Maybe it was his own fault for wearing white.

"David!"

"I _asked_ for it, okay? I _asked_ him to bite me," Hodges explained, unable to keep the edge out of his voice. "So don't go blaming Greg."

There was a look of disbelief in his lover's eyes. Hodges couldn't shake the feeling that, for some reason, Nick was determined to blame Greg. "Oh really? You asked him for _this_?" he said, gesturing to the deepest bite. "To draw blood?"

"Yes," David insisted, "that's what I'm telling you."

Nick frowned. His gaze lingered on the man's chest for what felt like a long time. He seemed to be taking in every possible detail; probably imagining Greg holding him down and inflicting this upon Hodges without his consent.

"_Jesus_," he breathed. "Why?"

Hodges pried the Texan's hand away and pulled his shirt down. "I'm not talking about this right now. I need to get ready for work."

"Wait." Nick's eyes were pleading. "At least let me bandage it up for you."

David stared at the ground and sighed. "Fine," he conceded, if only to get the man off his back.

After making a detour to the bathroom for gauze and antiseptic, his lover led him over to the couch and sat him down. Hodges gently pulled the t-shirt over his head and let Nick begin cleaning the shallow wound. The antiseptic was cold, and it stung where it made contact with the torn skin, but otherwise everything was fine.

When Nick was finished with the antiseptic, the two of them heard shuffling feet in the bedroom. A moment later, a mostly nude, bleary-eyed Greg appeared in the doorway with Little Kobe at his heels. He didn't look much better than Hodges, all things considered. There were several bruises on his body that David hadn't noticed before. The one on his upper arm was where Hodges clung to him while in his lap. Another on his hip, just visible above the waistline of his boxers, was where Hodges gripped him when he'd taken Greg on his knees later that day.

"Oh." When the young man realized what was going on in his living room, he froze.

Immediately, Nick stood up and glared at him. "There's nothing you won't take too far, is there?" he railed angrily. There was so much condemnation in his tone that Hodges had to intervene.

"Goddammit Nick, _sit down_," he ordered, but the Texan remained standing. "I asked for it, remember?"

Nick's eyes were still fixed on Greg. "So anything goes as long as he asks for it?"

Greg frowned. Little Kobe darted out from behind him and jumped onto the couch beside Hodges, purring as his head was scratched. "Well hello to you too," he deadpanned, making for the kitchen. "Who made pancakes?"

The Texan grit his teeth in frustration. "You're really just going to blow this off like it's nothing?"

"Yes, because you're overreacting as always," said Greg, helping himself to one of the pancakes. "God forbid David and I should have some fun that doesn't include you."

Despite how close Nick came to losing his cool over that comment, he managed to hold it together somehow. "You really think I'm overreacting? Look at his fucking chest, Greg. It's too much; there has to be a line somewhere. Boundaries."

"Oh yes, _lines_," Greg said mockingly. "We all know how much you love those."

Hodges' jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Maybe Nick _was_ overreacting a tiny bit, but that was uncalled for. "Can we just stop now please? This isn't solving anything," he cut in.

Greg just shrugged and continued eating, but Nick's fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Instead of retaliating, however, he sat down beside Hodges and continued bandaging him up.

"Thanks," he said once the Texan was finished.

Nick ran a hand through the trace technician's hair. "Don't mention it. Now go get dressed or we'll be late." Hodges nodded and disappeared into the bedroom. At the same time, having evidently finished breakfast, Greg came back into the living room. He moved toward Nick and climbed into his lap.

"Oh for fuck's sake Greg," he grumbled, but the young man remained firmly in place.

"I'm taking my Denali to work," Greg stated. All Nick could do was nod. It was probably a good idea to avoid cooping them up in the same car right now. "I'm sorry Nick," he continued a moment later. "That was a really ugly thing I said to you."

"I did jump down your throat," the older man admitted with a shrug. "Maybe I deserved it."

"No. You didn't. Not at all," Greg asserted, looking rather angry with himself. "I didn't mean to insult you for having boundaries..." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I feel like such an idiot."

"You were just mad." Nick offered his lover a kind look. "I know you didn't mean anything by it."

Hearing those words, Greg pressed their bodies closer together. There was still an apologetic quality to his face, but at least now there was some sense of relief as well. Nick felt relieved too. So what if he and Greg snapped at each other? It was just a way of working out their frustration. With this in mind, Nick let himself be pulled in for a slow, tender kiss that made him forget there had ever been an argument to begin with.

Soon after, Hodges returned from the bedroom and raised an eyebrow at the scene. "Well that was quick."


	10. Chapter 10

Hodges was having the best dream. He, Nick and Greg were on a tropical island, lying in the sun. There, they could be as nauseatingly obvious about their relationship as they wanted. And they certainly capitalized on that opportunity. In fact, Nick and Greg dragged Hodges somewhere slightly more private and began sucking him off together.

Everything about the situation was so real; from the way their tongues darted out to taste him, to the way their hands knowingly roamed his body. Hodges actually felt like he was thrusting his hips up into those mouths, feeling their slick warmth surrounding him. Then, the next thing he knew, his eyes were open and he was staring up at Greg's ceiling—only he wasn't alone, and his hips really _were_ thrusting into something warm. With a glance downward, Hodges knew for certain that he was no longer dreaming. The covers were pulled down to his thighs and Nick's hand was curled tightly around his cock.

It was his hips doing most of the work while Nick simply kept his hand steady, increasing the tightness of his grip when Hodges' thrusts became more erratic. It felt fucking amazing; and all too soon, David's orgasm struck. His hand shot out to clutch Nick's arm as he rode out the heavenly shudders overtaking his body. A groggy whimper tore itself from his throat as Nick continued to stroke him through to the very last sensation.

All Hodges could do at that point was suck in a lungful of air and meet the Texan's eyes.

"Good morning," said Nick. He was lying on his side, head propped up in one hand. His other hand, now sticky and wet, roamed down David's shaft to cup his balls.

"Hi," Hodges breathed, feeling oddly speechless. He was having a difficult time tearing his gaze away from the hand still fondling him. "You should really wake me up like that more often..."

Nick laughed and rolled onto his back. "I'll keep that in mind."

Smiling, Hodges closed the small distance between them and laid his head on the CSI's chest. The man's skin was hot and smelled faintly his favourite brand of cologne. That smell was one of the things Hodges would recognize anywhere, just like Nick's laugh or his slight southern accent.

"So how's your chest doing?" Nick's hand came up to caress his lover's head. It was soothing enough that Hodges could almost fall back asleep, which was a very tempting notion, especially with the warmth and comfort of Nick's arms around him.

"Much better," David told him. It had been nearly a week since the biting fiasco, which proved plenty of time for the teeth marks to fade and his skin to heal up. By now, they were nothing more than faint reminders of he and Greg's wild night.

"Good," Nick replied, trailing his fingers down Hodges' cheek. "I don't like seeing you in pain."

Hodges couldn't help but stare up at his lover suspiciously. "Oh really? Are you sure about that?" he joked.

The Texan rolled his eyes. "Alright, let me rephrase that," he began. "I don't like seeing you in pain when it's not during sex." His thumb gently stroked Hodges' cheek. "That better?"

The trace technician snuggled closer to his lover. "You're making me all hard again..."

"What is it with you in the mornings?" Nick laughed, enjoying the tight embrace. David's erection pressed against his hip, aroused and insistent.

"I can't help it. Waking up beside you makes me horny," he replied, his breath tickling Nick's chest.

Their moment was suddenly interrupted by the loud vibrating of Hodges' cell phone. With an annoyed groan, the grey-haired man glared at it sitting on the nightstand. He wanted nothing more than to pretend he hadn't even heard it, but what if it was something important? Sighing, he reached over and brought the phone up to his ear.

"David?" The voice on the other end of the line was painfully familiar. The trace technician sucked in a rasping breath when he realized who it was.

"Why are you calling me?" Hodges snapped, springing from the bed like a bat out of hell. He could feel Nick's eyes on him as he tossed on a pair of boxers, but he'd deal with that later. This was not a conversation he was having with Nick in the room.

"I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I needed to apologize for how I acted in Seattle," Jeff explained as Hodges stepped out onto the balcony.

The fresh early-morning air felt cool against David's skin, but inside he was burning with anger. All he could do was shake his head. "Why bother?" he replied bitterly. "You're just wasting your time and money right now."

"That's just it—this isn't a long distance call. I'm in Las Vegas."

The trace technician suddenly felt dizzy. "Jeff..."

"It's just a coincidence, I swear. I'm here for my cousin's wedding," he insisted. "But I thought since I'm in town and I still had your number..." To Hodges' disappointment, the man actually sounded sincere. Damn him. "I'd really like to see you in person, David."

Hodges frowned. Why couldn't Jeff just leave him alone? "You lied to me that night."

"I know..."

"You promised to be nice—and what do you do instead? You embarrass me in front of the two people I care about most," David bristled. The wound he'd worked so hard to heal after Seattle had been abruptly reopened. "I should have never brought you over to meet them in the first place."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Then: "I couldn't help it. I was so hurt when you left LA. Maybe I just wanted to get back at you."

Hodges paced the balcony anxiously. "How mature."

"I was jealous, okay?" Jeff said in self-defence. There was an undercurrent of sadness in his voice that Hodges refused to acknowledge. "Are you still with them—the two CSIs?"

"Yes. And I'm not going to risk fucking that up again just to see _you_."

"David, please—"

"No. That's all I have to say to you," Hodges barked into the phone. He hung up a second later and slumped against the sliding glass door, feeling inexplicably drained. Jeff had an uncanny talent for putting him in a foul mood, but that was the least of his concerns. What the trace technician still didn't understand was why the redhead bothered calling in the first place. Jeff had men throwing themselves at him all the time. There was no reason for him to be grovelling after an old crush.

David remained on the balcony a while longer, pondering the phone call. The beautiful morning sun gleamed bright in the sky, but Hodges was too far up in his head to take in the sight. All he could hear, over and over again in his mind, was Jeff's voice—hurt, shocked, disappointed—when he found out Hodges was being transferred to Vegas. At the time, Hodges convinced himself that he was reading too much into the situation. The truth was quite the opposite. Jeff had been heartbroken; had admitted that to him. But even then, David didn't owe the man anything. And he certainly didn't now.

Some time later, when Hodges finally drifted back into the apartment, he was met by the sight of Nick sprawled out on the couch. He had the utmost faith that Nick would never purposefully eavesdrop on him. But then again, if it was Nick bolting from the bedroom to answer a secret phone call, Hodges would probably be suspicious too.

Inevitably, Nick was going to ask him about what just happened. In order to circumvent that question, Hodges parked himself on the couch and began explaining Jeff's call.

At first he couldn't be sure how the Texan had taken the information. He stayed completely silent until Hodges finished; at which point he let out a contemplative sigh.

"He must have strong feelings for you to be this persistent," Nick mused. "As much as I'd like to rip his nuts off, I can't really blame him. I know what being in love with you feels like."

Hodges blinked in surprise at his lover's diplomacy. The response was certainly unexpected, but welcome nonetheless. David was just glad not to see Nick fly off the handle. It was just a phone call, in the end, and the trace technician had no plans to see the redhead.

"The difference," Hodges replied, "is that your feelings are returned." This drew a pleased smile from the Texan. The grey-haired man reached over to twine his fingers with Nick's. "How about I make you breakfast? Then maybe later we can pick up where we left off."

Nick brought their twined fingers up to his mouth and kissed the back of David's hand. "God, this is why I love you. You're all crabby and sarcastic at work, but once we get you home..." He paused for a moment, searching for the right phrase.

"Continue," Hodges urged, quirking an eyebrow.

Nick cleared his throat. "That tough shell of yours drops away and we get to see what's underneath."

The trace technician couldn't help but smile. Nick was very good at flattering him by now. "Just for that, I'll make those mini waffles you like," David told him, heading into the kitchen. "And I won't complain if you want to watch _Animal Planet_."

For the rest of the morning, Nick was on cloud nine. After letting Hodges spoil him with his favourite breakfast, the two men curled up on the couch together and watched TV for a while. Nick was so relaxed he nearly fell back asleep—at least, until Greg walked through the door carrying a gift bag with him.

Nick yawned and sat up a bit. "So this is it, huh?" he asked, eyeing the parcel. Greg nodded, though there was a hint of mischievousness to his grin.

"No snooping. Your birthday isn't until tomorrow," Greg warned.

Nick cast his lover a theatrical frown from across the apartment. "But I thought we were celebrating today?"

"Trust me Nicky, you'll be too excited if I let you open it _before_ we go out tonight."

The two other men peered at each other in bewilderment. Not even Hodges knew what the bag contained, but that statement certainly promised something good.

Though he remained insanely curious, Nick agreed to not to peek at his present, provided he could open it when they got home later that night. Reluctantly, Greg consented to his terms and they dropped the subject.

The rest of the afternoon was spent lounging around the apartment and playing with Little Kobe. Nick was especially looking forward to the night ahead. Between the stress of work and trying to keep his relationship with Greg and Hodges off everyone's radar, he could really use an evening out. The place he selected—a modest Asian-themed nightclub called Pagoda—promised for an interesting outing. Although it had actually been Greg's suggestion, Nick was feeling strangely adventurous. And besides, a drink was a drink. The main thing was that he'd have both of the people he loved there with him.

* * *

As Nick soon discovered, Pagoda was not nearly as modest as Greg made it seem. The place had a very intimate feel, despite its huge size. Each red leather booth, of which there were many scattered throughout the room, had its own shoji-screen enclosure for privacy. The staff were all dressed in kimono-style shirts and carried trays of martinis through the crowd. The dance floor was off to one side of the bar, already filled with people by the time Nick, Greg and Hodges arrived.

After being led to their booth by one of the hostesses, the Texan leered questioningly at Greg. "I thought you said this place was small?"

"Well, I might have exaggerated a _bit_..." Greg admitted, glancing around the large room. He almost looked nervous. "We can go somewhere else if you want."

Nick dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. "No, I like it," he replied, pleased to see Greg smile back at him.

"So what are we buying you, birthday boy?" Hodges asked, leaning toward the CSI. "Scotch? Whiskey? Tequila?"

"How about I start with a rum and coke?" Nick said with a laugh. David cast him an _if you say so_ kind of look, but nodded nonetheless.

When their hostess returned, they ended up ordering several rounds of shots in addition to Nick's drink. It was all part of Greg's plan to get both of his lovers intoxicated enough to get up and dance with him. It actually seemed to be working quite well on Hodges. Since he was the lightweight of the group, it only took a couple of Kamikazes to get him drunk. Nick, on the other hand, was a much tougher nut to crack. Greg knew that quite well. After all, the Texan's ability to hold his liquor was one of the things that started their relationship, ironically enough.

After several rum and cokes, Nick was still far too sober, so Greg ordered them each a mixed shot called a Pornstar, which they did together. It wasn't long, however, before Nick caught onto his clever scheme and captured one of Greg's hands in his.

"Are you trying to get me wasted, Greggo?"

The young man put on a charming smile. "Yes," he admitted. "I've never seen you _really_ drunk in all the time we've been together. And it's your birthday... so why not?"

Nick looked thoroughly amused. Still in control of Greg's hand, Nick made the Norwegian pick up his glass and drink from it. "I'd rather see _you_ drunk." Excitement glimmered in his eyes. "I know how you get. And I wouldn't mind seeing you whip your dick out to put on another little show for me."

_Oh god_. Greg abruptly scurried out of the booth and stood up. Nick was going to make him so fucking hard if he kept talking like that. "I promise to get as drunk as you want if the two of you dance with me," he proposed, offering both men his best puppy dog eyes.

It was miraculous, the lack of convincing it took—even for Hodges, who at his best claimed to have two left feet. Greg didn't know whether it was the alcohol or if it was just his lucky day, but a few short minutes later, the three of them were having the time of their lives on the dance floor.

Hodges discovered that dancing with Nick and Greg was quite like having sex with Nick and Greg, only they were clothed and surrounded by other people. He ended up in the middle of their impromptu dance sandwich, with he and Greg face-to-face and Nick pressed up against him from behind. The lack of 'traditional' dancing came as quite a relief. What they were doing was more like grinding their bodies together, which Hodges actually felt capable of. Greg clearly had some aptitude at it—the trace technician couldn't take his eyes off his lover's hips, swaying to the beat of the music and brushing across his every so often. Even above and beyond that sight was the feel of Nick's warm body surrounding him from behind. At some point, the Texan's hands snaked around to grip David's hips, guiding them in unison from side to side.

Soon enough, the movement became so natural that Hodges didn't even have to think about it anymore. He simply let himself relax and surrendered to the experience.

* * *

Getting wasted at a club the night before his cousin's wedding was definitely not his smartest idea. Then again, Jeff wasn't known for having very many smart ideas (outside of work, at least).

In his defence, he couldn't just sit alone in his hotel room all night. The confinement was making him stir-crazy, just like being alone with his thoughts. Nothing could have distracted him from the miserable state of his life quite like alcohol and a giant, noisy room full of strangers.

It was now after midnight; he'd been sitting at the bar so long that he and the bartender knew each other by name. Normally, he would have walked around, maybe introduced himself to a cute guy... but not tonight. Tonight, just when he thought he couldn't get any more pathetic, he was sulking like a baby and feeling sorry for himself.

And to think he used to be in a rock band. What happened to those days? Now he was just a thirty-something ginger with high cholesterol and a bunch of gaudy tattoos.

"How're you doing, Jeff?" It was the bartender, back again to spoon-feed him more drinks. "Can I get you another?" he asked, gesturing to the redhead's empty glass.

"Sure. Why not," he replied, watching the man refill his scotch and soda.

"You know, you should get out there and mingle. You won't meet anyone sitting here chatting with me," the man told him. "Not that I mind the company."

Jeff managed a feeble smile. "I'm not sure if I want to meet anyone, to tell you the truth." He sipped his drink, staring wistfully at the liquid inside. "Maybe you're right though. I guess it wouldn't hurt to wander around a bit." After saying goodbye and paying his tab he got up and headed toward the dance floor.

The club itself wasn't unlike the places he frequented back home, only he didn't know anyone here. Most of the people were just regular folk—some locals, some tourists like him. This wasn't Jeff's first time in Vegas, however. Just the first time since David moved here. And for some reason, that changed the city completely.

Jeff's scotch and soda didn't last him nearly as long as he'd hoped. To supplement it, he grabbed a martini from one of the passing hostesses and popped the olive into his mouth. It tasted more like alcohol than an olive; not that he could really tell the difference by that point. He'd been here far too long with no discernable goal other than getting drunk enough to forget about David Hodges.

Unfortunately, fate wasn't very kind to Jeff. It never was. Not when it came to the things he really wanted in life—the things that actually mattered. As painful as it was, he'd come to terms with that reality a long time ago. But there was no way Jeff could've predicted that even fate would be _this_ cruel to him.

He was standing near an empty booth, working on his second martini. The mass of bodies on the dance floor held his attention for a while, undulating like one giant, living being. Every once in a while, a person in the crowd would catch his eye; a tall blond in a leather jacket, a cute brunette with a goatee. But it was all just innocent people-watching. At least, until he saw a face he recognized from Seattle.

It was Greg, the CSI with the cute, messy hair. One of Hodges' _colleagues_.

The brawny one that nearly attacked Jeff that day—Nick, if he remembered right—was also there. The man dancing in between them, Jeff realized with a pained breath, was David.

All he could do was stare. It made him feel like some kind of peeping Tom, looking in on a part of David's life that he wasn't supposed to see. Any doubts in Jeff's mind about the three of them being lovers promptly disappeared. The way they touched each other with such familiarity and passion made him ache in more ways than one. Firstly, for what he couldn't have, and secondly, for the beauty of what he was seeing.

The trio danced a while longer—three, maybe four songs, Jeff wasn't sure, he'd lost track of time—before breaking away from the crowd. The smiles on their faces told a story of three people very much in love, truly committed to each other. More so than ever, Jeff felt like a voyeur to something he might never have himself.

When the three of them disappeared into one of the screened-in booths, the redhead was both disappointed and relieved.

It took him several minutes to figure out what to do with himself. He rarely got this worked up over anything; but that wasn't what worried him at the moment. Jeff's main concern was the fact that his legs seemed to be carrying in David's direction at an alarming pace.

Jeff only had time for one thought before he crossed the point of no return.

_I'm too drunk for this_.


	11. Chapter 11

He shouldn't have done it. He _really_ shouldn't have done it. The mere looks on their faces were enough to make him feel like the scourge of the earth.

Greg was the most surprised. At the sight of Jeff's face, he knocked over the shot glass in front of him and paled like he'd seen a ghost. Thanks to Hodges explaining the man's phone call, Nick at least knew beforehand that Jeff was in town—not that his sudden appearance at the club that night wasn't an absolute shock.

The most awkward part of the encounter wasn't so much seeing each other as it was finding something to say. Eventually Jeff, feeling responsible for the awkwardness, managed to break the ice.

"I swear to god, I'm not stalking you."

Hodges swallowed uncomfortably. "I thought you were here for a wedding?" His voice sounded extremely tense.

"It's tomorrow," said Jeff, trying to avoid both Nick and Greg's eyes in fear of what he would surely find. He could, however, feel all three sets of eyes on him.

"Did you come here alone?" Hodges asked. Jeff replied with a stiff nod. He hadn't even told anyone from the wedding party that he was going out. They didn't need to know he was sulking. It wasn't their business.

Jeff crossed his arms over his chest. "I shouldn't have called you," he lamented, as difficult as it was for him to admit. "I'm such a fucktard. Why in a million years did I think you might agree to see me?"

"He's drunk," Jeff heard Nick say to the others. Jeff's first reaction upon hearing this was angry indignation, even though he knew it was true. If he _wasn't_ intoxicated, he would never have approached their booth at all. He would have simply gone home, tail between his legs. But instead he was here, embarrassing himself like an idiot in front of David and his lovers—who, despite his presence, were now huddled together speaking in hushed tones.

"I'll just leave," he told them, not without some bitterness in his voice. When no one tried to stop him, he turned around and headed for the exit, suddenly feeling sick to death of Las Vegas.

Frowning, David watched his former colleague stumble away from their booth. He bit his lip, knowing that speaking his mind right now wouldn't go over well with Nick and Greg. Not that he'd let that stop him. "We can't just let him wander off at night in a strange city. We should at least call him a cab."

Nick sighed. Even though he wanted nothing more than to see Jeff disappear from their lives forever, Hodges was right. They needed to make sure he got home safely.

"Alright," said the Texan, scooting out of the booth. He couldn't see Jeff anymore, which probably meant he'd gone outside. "I'll go get him." He sped off after the redhead and caught up to him on the sidewalk outside the club. Jeff was sitting on the curb looking very pale and clutching his stomach like he might throw up.

"Hey." Nick put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm going to call you a cab, okay? You need to get home."

"No! No cab."

Nick paused in the middle of pulling out his cell phone. "Jeff, you're gonna have to go home sooner or later. You can't just sit out here in the street all night." His statement was met with more drunken protests, but this time Nick ignored them and called a cab anyway. Greg and Hodges came outside just as he was hanging up.

"How's he doing?" Greg asked.

"He'll live. He just needs to sleep it off."

"I'm not going back to that stupid fucking hotel," Jeff cut in angrily. He glared up at Nick. "I don't even remember what it's called, or where it is. How the hell are you gonna send me there in a cab?"

Nick crossed his arms over his chest. "Great." He cast an irritated glance at Hodges. "Now what are we supposed to do with him?"

The trace technician frowned, watching Jeff wobble to and fro on the curb. He wasn't sure if he wanted to scream or cry. They were supposed to be celebrating Nick's birthday, not babysitting Jeff while he was drunk. Why the hell did he have to show up at the exact same club as them? And now what were they going to do with him?

"Take me with you," Jeff suggested.

David head snapped in the redhead's direction. "No way."

"I need a place to stay," he continued, not even aware that he was slurring his words. "I don't know anyone else..."

None of them were particularly thrilled by that suggestion, but without the hotel's address they were essentially out of options. Either Jeff went with them or he'd have to fend for himself, and they weren't about to let him do that. Still, since it was Greg's apartment they'd be going back to, it was ultimately his call. In the end, he didn't have the heart to leave even Jeff homeless for the night.

"It's fine. He can sleep on the couch," Greg told them, trying to stay optimistic about the situation. There was no way he could have predicted their night turning out like this, but what could they do? With any luck, everything would go smoothly and they would find Jeff's hotel in the morning.

At least, Greg hoped so.

* * *

As soon as they laid Jeff down on the couch, he was out cold. One long, tattooed arm hung off the edge of the sofa, which his legs were also far too long for, but none of that seemed to matter to him. The redhead was snoring away within minutes, looking as comfortable as though he were in his own bed.

It was difficult to tell how Nick was dealing with the derailment of his birthday plans. He'd been rather quiet ever since they left the club and promptly retreated to Greg's room once they got home. It was this more than anything that made Hodges feel guilty. Jeff was _his_ problem, so essentially their plans were ruined because of _him_.

David stared resentfully at the redhead until he felt Greg's hand on his shoulder.

"He'll sleep it off. Everything will be fine."

"That wasn't really my concern," Hodges grumbled. "Let's just leave him alone." With that, he grabbed Greg's hand and led him into the bedroom.

Nick was propped against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling. He glanced over momentarily when they entered the room, but his eyes went back to the ceiling just as quickly.

"It's officially your birthday now," said Greg, glancing at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read just after two o'clock in the morning. "The night's not over yet. What would you like to do?"

The Texan offered him a tired look. "Haven't we had enough excitement for one night?"

"What about birthday sex?" Greg asked guilefully.

In response, both Nick and Hodges wore identical expressions of disapproval. Greg didn't understand—what was wrong with birthday sex?

"Are you forgetting about our _guest_?" said Hodges, answering his unspoken question.

Greg didn't thing that was such a big deal. Jeff was sound asleep by the look of it. Besides, they shouldn't let his rather untimely presence ruin their whole night, especially for Nick's sake. But the Norwegian could be remarkably sneaky if necessary, and he still had another trick up his sleeve.

"Well will you at least open your present?"

That certainly did the trick. The Texan's earlier excitement about his mystery gift returned right away. "Of course," he replied, watching Greg seize the bag and place it before him on the bed. "It's not full of sex toys, is it?"

Greg laughed and shook his head. "Even better."

Curiously, Nick opened the bag and peered inside. After clearing away several layers of tissue paper, he reached inside and pulled out the item of clothing.

The CSI was so surprised he nearly choked on his own saliva. "Jesus Christ..."

He was holding a cheerleader costume in his hands.

A mile-wide grin spread across Greg's face. "You didn't think I knew about your weakness for cheerleaders, did you?"

Nick clutched the costume as though it were his most sacred possession. There were no words to describe his elation. Despite being too stunned and awed to think straight, he now understood why Greg insisted on opening the present once they got home, rather than before they went out.

Hodges eyed the outfit with equal surprise. He turned to look at Greg. "Why am I strangely turned on at the thought of you wearing that?"

"Because you're a pervert," Greg replied without missing a beat, "but that's beside the point." The young man placed his hands on his hips in defiance. "Who said _I _was wearing it?" he asked quite seriously.

The trace technician gave an amused snort and sat down on the bed. "Yeah. Over my dead body," he said with a laugh. There was no way anyone was getting him into the French maid costume, let alone that thing. His pride would never recover.

"You wouldn't even do it for Nicky on his birthday?" Greg drew close and pushed Hodges down onto his back. "Come on, David," he purred, moving to straddle the man's thighs. "You know you want to..."

In an attempt to end the bickering, Nick cleared his throat to get both his lovers' attention. "Do I get a say?" he asked in amusement. "Because I'd actually like Greg to wear it."

The young CSI could see Hodges' triumphant smirk at him from the corner of his eye, but he ignored the man and instead focused on Nick. "But Hodges has never—"

"I know. But it's been too long since you dressed up for me Greggo," he said, tossing the outfit at his lover. "And besides, you bought it for me. You had to realize I'd want it on you at some point."

The grey-haired man was still smirking. "You heard the man, Sanders. Go put it on," David gloated, reaching around to pinch Greg's ass. His tone was pure, nauseating, suck-up Hodges.

Loathingly, the Norwegian climbed off his lover and took a step toward the bathroom. He cast David the most disdainful look he could muster. "I hope you know that I'm getting you back for that snarky tone." Hodges merely shrugged it off as Greg disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

"I don't know who's more excited at this point—me or you," Nick remarked as the anticipation built.

Hodges chuckled from his sprawled-out position across the mattress. "I'm just glad I'm around to see it this time." Seeing the real thing would no doubt be much better than having the other man describe it to him after the fact. "Hey, Nick?" he began. "Can we... can we be rough with him?"

That was a very tempting idea. How could the Texan refuse? "I think he'd enjoy that," Nick replied with a sinister grin.

It wasn't long before the bathroom door creaked open a few inches. Greg's voice came from the other side: "Before I open the door, I should probably warn you how sexy I look."

David rolled his eyes. "Then show us."

"As you wish." A moment later, the door opened the rest of the way. Greg stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. The stretchy fabric of the costume hugged his every curve. It was tight-fitting all the way down to his hips, where it puffed out into a short, pleated skirt that exposed most of the young man's thighs.

Was it sexy? Hell yes. It was the sexiest thing Nick had ever seen.

Greg seemed oblivious to their reactions. "God, what is my life?" he joked, extending the outfit an odious glare.

"Shut up and get over here," Nick ordered.

Greg was delightfully quick to acquiesce. He crossed the room toward Nick's side of the bed and the Texan rose to meet him. Once they were face to face, Nick trailed a finger over the fabric covering his lover's chest.

"How did you know this was exactly what I wanted?"

The young man smiled. "I just had a feeling."

"Know what else I want, Greggo?" Nick asked with dark eyes. Suddenly, Hodges was behind Greg, seizing his wrists and wrenching them behind his back. "Birthday sex."

"I knew you couldn't resist," Greg said victoriously. There was no reason to let Jeff ruin all their fun just because he was passed out in the next room. They could still make the best of the night—and more importantly, of Nick's birthday. Greg was already brimming with anticipation. When he felt skin brush against the front of his thigh, he glanced down to find Hodges' free hand tracing the hem of the skirt.

"Are you sure this wasn't made specifically for you?" David mused, letting his fingers roam underneath the pleats. "You're putting a lot of actual cheerleaders to shame right now."

Well, Greg was definitely hard at that point. The way David's fingers wandered tantalizingly close to his cock, only to pull away, drove him crazy. But with his hands still held behind his back, all he could do was stare at Nick and wait for whatever came next.

When he and the Texan locked gazes, Nick's pupils visibly dilated with desire. The costume was definitely doing something extraordinary to him—a thought that pleased Greg to no end. It still took him by surprise, nonetheless, when Nick leaned in and whispered, "You won't be able to walk straight for a week when I'm done with you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"No, it's a promise," Nick told him, a sinister smile forming on his lips. "And look, you're turned on already." He gestured to the rather obvious tent at the front of Greg's skirt. "Lift it up, David. Let me see his cock." Hodges slowly raised the skirt just enough to expose their lover's erection to Nick's hungry eyes. Greg couldn't believe how hard this was making him. His biggest kink of all was having Nick and Hodges talk dirty to him, which they certainly loved to exploit. Before laying a single finger on him, they would often times get him so worked up that he'd be left begging for their touch.

"Well, well. Looks like you're ready for more," Nick drawled in amusement. "You can let go now, David. I want him on his back like a good little slut."

Greg's wrists were released from behind his back. The next thing he knew, he was being shoved hard into the mattress and Hodges was on top of him.

"I must say, I'm glad you're wearing this instead of me," he said with a chuckle. "I think we should have you wear this all the time when we're at home. Maybe lead you around on a little leash..."

"You wish," Greg retorted, trying unsuccessfully to shove the man off of him.

"Now, now, be nice. Otherwise I'll have to tie your hands behind your back," Hodges threatened.

Rather than responding with words, Greg chose a non-verbal way to demonstrate his lack of enthusiasm for that idea by kneeing his lover none-too-gently in the thigh. It wasn't the best idea, given Hodges' threat, but Greg was eager to see how the trace technician would retaliate.

"Nick?" David called out, turning toward the Texan. "Do you see anything we can use to tie his wrists?"

"How about a shoelace?"

"Perfect." Hodges attention fell upon Greg once more. He lifted the two of them off the bed and spun Greg around, attempting to bend him over the edge of the bed like he were a cop ready to cuff a criminal. Greg struggled wildly in an attempt to salvage his pride, at which point Nick stepped in to help the grey-haired man wrestle their young lover to the bed.

"You asshole," Greg muttered in frustration. "You just had to do this while I'm wearing this fucking costume." There was no give in the knot Hodges tied; it kept his wrists bound tightly together, not that he expected anything less.

"Pretty good birthday present, isn't it?" Hodges asked with a grin.

Nick's fingers coiled around the back of the trace technician's neck. "Damn right," he replied, reeling David in for a tender kiss.

Greg could hear the two of them kissing behind him. Because of this, there were fewer hands holding him down. Yet when he tried to stand up, one of the hands—Nick's, he thought—shoved him back down into the mattress face-first.

"And where do you think you're going?" said the Texan. Greg felt another hand—also Nick's—on the back of his thigh. It moved upward, beneath the hem of the skirt, and settled on his ass, making the young man shiver. "The fun hasn't even started yet."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Greg goaded. He was painfully aware of his erection straining against the edge of the bed and wanted to move things along. All this did, however, was reward him with a hard squeeze to his ass. Nick made sure to dig his nails in for good measure.

"So impatient..."

"Shut up! Just fuck me!"

The hand on his ass cheek migrated to his entrance, where it stroked up and down across the area. "You'd better pipe down or I might just decide to go in dry," Nick threatened.

Greg's breathing hitched in his chest. The only time he'd ever done that was with Hodges, and he hadn't even been thinking straight. The thought of doing it again... didn't actually seem so bad.

"Stop making threats you won't follow through on," Greg told him.

That gave the Texan just enough motivation to breach his lover's entrance with one finger. The young CSI moaned in surprise.

"Is that what you want? Huh?" Nick buried the finger deeper inside. "You want me to hurt you?"

Greg squirmed desperately and pulled at his bound wrists. "Yes," he groaned. His voice was low and carnal. "Please..."

"David, go get the lube," Nick ordered, watching the trace technician head toward the nightstand.

"What?" Greg struggled to look over his shoulder at the Texan. "No," he protested, clenching around the man's finger. "I want you now, Nicky."

A moment later, Nick's hand knotted itself in Greg's hair and he shoved the young man's cheek hard into the mattress. Greg could feel his lover learning over him, breathing hotly in his ear.

"Not without lube," Nick growled into his ear, twisting and rotating his finger inside of Greg. "Understand?" It was an unexpected reminder of just who was calling the shots right now, and it made Greg harder than ever.

It took a moment for him to find his voice. "I understand..."

"Good." Now that Hodges had returned with the lube, Nick withdrew his finger and pointed at the bed. "Strip and get comfortable," he told David. "I want to watch him suck your cock."

Hodges grinned and was quick to peel off his clothing. As piece by piece fell to the floor, he felt Nick's gaze on him, heavy and watchful. Then, left naked, he climbed onto the bed and scooted closer to Greg. When he opened his legs, Greg got a close-up view of the insistent arousal that the cheerleader costume had sparked. The spectacle of their lover dressed that way—especially now, bound and unable to move—had David's entire body in a state of hyper-arousal.

As a result, he was quick to seize Greg by the hair and draw himself in close enough to brush his cock across the young man's cheek. Greg gazed up at him with surprisingly patient eyes, given his earlier outburst. Perhaps this was because Nick had finished preparing him and was now extracting himself from his jeans.

"Going for a repeat of that time in your car?" Greg joked, wondering if Hodges might decide to slap him with his cock again. He purposefully let the man rub against his cheek.

The grip in his hair tightened. "Liked that, did you?"

Greg said nothing, merely squirmed against his restraints and stared up at the trace technician. He was soon distracted, however, by the feeling of Nick's hands pushing his skirt up and drawing closer behind him. Nick and Hodges held each other's gaze as the Texan gradually penetrated their lover. Once he was completely sheathed inside Greg, the pleasure of the sensation showed clearly on his face.

"Fuck," Nick exclaimed, throwing back his head. He let out a deep breath and dug his fingers into Greg's hips. Simultaneously, David guided his cock into Greg's mouth, letting the CSI encircle the tip with his tongue. Nick, slowly beginning to move, watched on, enjoying the look on Hodges' face as Greg's head bobbed further down onto his cock.

"Such a little slut, aren't you, Greggo?" Nick teased, rapidly picking up his pace. Smirking, he let his palm come down hard on Greg's ass, making his lover groan around the hardness in his mouth.

That was when, in the heat of their tryst, all three of them heard it; a loud noise, like something hitting the floor. And it came from right outside the bedroom door.


	12. Chapter 12

Both Nick and Hodges gazed toward the source of the noise. For Greg it was a bit more difficult. He first had to let David's penis slip from his mouth and nudge the man's knee out of the way so he could get a proper view of the door.

Unless Little Kobe was wreaking havoc in the living room, there was only one other explanation... the Californian who was _supposed_ to be passed out on Greg's couch.

Jeff immediately took a step back from the doorway. He was overwhelmed. Embarrassment, surprise, jealousy... lust. His emotions were pulling him in a million different directions and he couldn't trust any of them.

He hadn't meant to walk in on them, honest to God. He'd woken up just a few moments ago to the feeling of Little Kobe licking his face, and then he heard raised voices coming from the other room. Going to investigate had been a split-second decision. But if he'd given it any thought, this sight—Greg in a cheerleader costume, hands bound behind his back, gagged with David's cock as Nick fucked him—well, it would have been the very last thing he expected to find.

All the alcohol in the world couldn't get Jeff drunk enough to forget seeing this. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, he hadn't quite decided yet.

For David, awkward didn't even come close to describing the situation. A long, painful minute ticked by in silence, staring into Jeff's eyes. God, how long had he been there? What had he seen?

Nick's reaction was much different. Whether it was due to his arousal, the fact that it was his birthday, or he was just feeling particularly brazen, Hodges didn't know.

"This isn't a peep show," Nick told the redhead, observing the man's surprised response. Jeff's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously. "Either shut the door and listen to us fuck for the rest of the night, or can come in and watch. Your choice."

Both Greg and Hodges stared at the Texan in shock and mild horror.

"_Nick_—!" Hodges began indignantly.

"No. Let him decide."

It took the redhead a while to gather enough courage to step into the room and close the door behind him. He was now even closer to the erotic spectacle on the bed and could barely move.

Nick didn't waste any time. "Sit," he said, gesturing to the chair in the corner of the room. "And don't make a sound. I don't even want to know you're here until we're finished. Got it?"

Hodges knew from experience that Jeff was not the kind of guy to take orders from anyone. He made his own rules. But there was something different about this situation. Instead of the cocky, cunning Jeff they encountered in Seattle, this Jeff was the opposite. He nodded at Nick and followed his orders without protest.

Once Jeff was situated in the corner, Nick turned his attention back to his lovers. He was still inside of Greg, not that the young man had forgotten. But Greg didn't expect the Texan to pull out almost completely and slam back in again.

A hoarse moan escaped Greg's lips before he could think to stop it. From his position bent over the edge of the bed, he couldn't even see Jeff, but just knowing the redhead was there made him feel inexplicably reserved.

Hodges was having the same problem. Feeling Jeff's eyes on him made the trace technician want to crawl underneath the covers and hide.

"Don't be shy," Nick coaxed. He leaned in toward his lovers so that only Greg and Hodges could hear his next words. "I want him to see what he can't have. Think of it as part of my birthday present."

Hodges was so close to throttling Nick for putting him in this position, but his body and mind were going in two opposite directions. He was so unbelievably hard from all their foreplay, and Greg's lips hovered inches away from his cock. Not even Jeff's presence could taint that, especially when Greg glanced up at him and parted his lips.

It wasn't long before they picked up where they left off. Nick looked extremely pleased. He began moving inside Greg once more, knowing just the right pace to make the young man vocal again. He made sure not to neglect Greg's prostate, which had his lover squirming around Hodges' cock and pulling desperately at the shoelace binding his wrists. Seeing that excitement return, Nick brought his palm down hard on his lover's ass to turn it up a notch.

Greg let out a rasping moan. Whatever modesty he'd put in place for Jeff's sake was gone. "Fuck." His skin stung from the force of the blow. "More," he grunted.

The second blow was harder than the first. This time, all Greg could do was moan around Hodges' cock, which he'd taken deep into his throat. The vibrations sent David reeling; he was going to come quicker than he thought. But who could blame him, with Greg swallowing him like that? And on top of everything else, Greg would dip his tongue into David's slit every once in a while to taste the pre-come gathering there. Then he'd look up at David with those big brown eyes, knowing how much they were both enjoying it.

Nick's actions, which Hodges observed in between watching Greg, were no less arousing. His drilling thrusts were relentless; so too was his treatment of Greg's ass. Where each blow landed, the CSI's skin turned a beautiful, angry pink and his moans only grew louder. It was more than enough to tip Hodges over the edge.

Greg's name was the first thing out of his mouth when the full force of his orgasm hit. It rolled off his tongue like syrup as the young man swallowed what he could of David's come. Hodges hand found its way back into Greg's hair.

"Don't lick it up," David said before Greg had the chance to clean up the excess come that had dribbled onto his chin. "Leave it."

Greg rolled his eyes and nodded. It was all he could do given the way Nick was laying into him from behind. Relentless wasn't even the word for it; more like ruthless, merciless even. The cheerleader costume had everything to do with it. His hands were everywhere underneath the skirt, bunching the fabric in his hands as every thrust brought him closer and closer to release. It wasn't long before the Texan was helpless to hold back any longer.

Instead of coming inside his lover, he pulled out at the last minute and spilled over Greg's ass, moaning his pleasure. Greg was now looking even more debauched than before, with his ass red and covered in semen. Nick leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss between the young man's shoulder blades.

Then came a gentle whine that grabbed Nick's attention right away. "Nicky, touch me _please_. I'm so hard."

"Alright, stand up and face me," said Nick, helping his lover off the bed. When Greg turned around, his much-neglected erection poked out from underneath the skirt, swollen and wet with pre-come. The older CSI stared at it in surprise. "Jesus, you weren't fucking kidding."

Greg stomped his foot impatiently. "_Nick, please_! You've been holding me on the edge this whole time."

The Texan glanced at Hodges with a thoughtful expression. "David? How should we get him off?"

"Let me," said Hodges, barely missing a beat. He slid off the bed and dropped to his knees in front of Greg, licking his lips. "I want to taste him."

The young CSI let out a shaky breath as Hodges' mouth surrounded him. "Oh fuck, please," he moaned, leaning back against Nick for support. "David, I'm gonna come."

The trace technician's wish to taste his lover was soon granted. Greg exploded into his mouth with the most delicious sound. His moans only stopped once Hodges sucked him dry, leaving Greg a shaky, panting mess.

Once Greg was able to catch his breath, Nick finally untied his wrists. Then, their attention fell upon Jeff.

He was still sitting in the corner, but he looked rather uncomfortable and Nick knew why.

"You're hard, aren't you?" he asked.

Jeff glared back at him. "I'm only human."

Nick hadn't needed confirmation; he could see the bulge in the man's pants from where he was standing, but it was too satisfying hearing Jeff admit it aloud. "I assume you want to take care of it, right?"

The redhead looked confused. "What are you saying?" he asked, openly suspicious.

"I'm _saying_," Nick told him, "that if you're going to jerk off, you might as well do it here."

"W-what?" It was obvious from the faltering response that Jeff hadn't been expecting to hear those words. He almost sounded nervous. "What happened to sit down and shut up?"

"I figure you owe us a little something for taking you in for the night," Nick reasoned, as though it was the only logical response.

Jeff was at a loss for words. Likewise, Greg and Hodges seemed unable to break the sudden silence. Hodges, for one, couldn't wrap his head around why the Texan was encouraging this situation. Inviting Jeff into their bedroom, even just as a voyeur, had pushed so many boundaries of privacy and intimacy that it almost made Hodges' head spin. But in the end, neither he nor Greg rejected the scenario because they trusted the Texan not to take it too far. But now, the question suddenly became: was _this_ too far?

Hodges couldn't figure out why Nick was doing it in the first place. Was he physically attracted to the redhead? Was it meant to embarrass Jeff? Was Nick simply asserting his dominance, egged on by alchohol and nerve?

"You're serious?" Jeff asked.

Nick surprised everyone in the room when he rose from the bed and headed toward their stunned voyeur. Jeff jumped to his feet in alarm, unsure of the other man's intentions. At that point, it was a coin-flip as to whether Nick might attack the man or come onto him.

For the time being, the Texan did neither. "It's my birthday, did David mention that?"

Jeff swallowed again, this time with some difficulty. "No, he didn't." The redhead's posture was ramrod-stiff, and he looked about ready to bolt from the room at a moment's notice.

"Undo your belt."

Hodges stared at the back of Nick's head in disbelief. It was unlikely he'd be able to change the man's mind now. For David, this whole situation was redefining the word awkward. No matter how attractive Jeff was, he wasn't one of them.

"I _said_, undo it," Nick reiterated, this time more forcefully.

Jeff had never been a fan of authority. It was a miracle he'd been a CSI for so long, given that Hodges had never seen him take orders particularly well. But there was just something about Nick when he got this way—David knew it intimately—that could make even the most self-assured man buckle to his will.

Even Jeff, apparently, was not immune. Slowly but surely, he unlatched his belt buckle and let it fall open.

"Good. Now unzip your fly," Nick continued. His voice was like molten lava, melting everything in its path. Hodges' trepidation had taken a backseat to watching Nick work his magic on the redhead. Beside Hodges on the bed, Greg had scooted to the edge of the mattress and was watching the exchange with rapt interest.

Jeff was quicker to comply this time. He took down his fly and, when Nick instructed him to get rid of his jeans altogether, he let them drop to the floor and kicked them aside.

What had been a noticeable tent in Jeff's jeans was now much more obvious in only his boxers. But, ironically, stripping down in front of the others hadn't served to belittle him, but had actually brought his cocky demeanour out of hiding. He was staring down at the bulge in his boxers with a confident grin.

"Take it out."

Whatever inhibitions Jeff originally harboured about the situation had disappeared. Perhaps he just wanted release, after watching the tail end of their little show. Hodges couldn't blame him for that. Or perhaps, Hodges realized a moment later, he was merely excited about showing off his cock.

It was the biggest in the room, certainly. Hodges had never seen Jeff naked, but the man's string of lovers back in LA was suddenly put into perspective. All of them, jilted in one way or another, would come back to him time after time. The sex must have been that good.

"Expecting something different?" Jeff asked. He was looking over Nick's shoulder at Hodges.

Before David had the chance to reply to that, Nick intervened.

"Sit down," he growled, shoving Jeff back into the chair. The redhead hit the seat with a fair amount of force—not enough to hurt him, but enough to give all three spectators quite the view of his cock slap against the waistband of his boxers and bob rather invitingly in his lap.

That was one of Greg's favourite positions, sitting in his partner's lap. And clearly Jeff had a lot to offer in that department.

Hodges couldn't help it; he cast a sidelong glance at Greg. The young CSI had managed to disentangle himself from the cheerleader costume after their little show was over, but was still naked. His arousal was difficult to miss, as was the wild look of lust in his eyes.

David felt a pang of something—at first he thought it might be jealousy, but it felt more like disappointment. He didn't know what to make of it.

"Touch yourself," Nick ordered, circling around beside the chair. The redhead was smirking up at him like he'd just won the lottery. "Do it." Jeff conceded, wrapping his palm around the shaft of his cock. It was thick enough to look heavy in his hand, and, among other things, David found himself wondering how much further Nick was going to take this.

For a moment, the three of them merely watched Jeff stroke up and down the long shaft. He liked to tease himself, it seemed. He would stroke himself rough and hard, until a few grunts began escaping his lips, and then he would slow it back down to a gentle, laboured pace. It reminded Hodges of the porn he used to watch in college, and admittedly, Greg wasn't the only one hard again.

Still, to Hodges, it was like waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was anticipating that either Nick or Greg would take it further, because he knew if anyone in the room would, it wasn't going to be him. Not even with the way Jeff was deliberately looking over at him and holding David's gaze while he stroked himself.

Nick licked his lips and leaned down close to Jeff's ear. "Do you like touching your cock for us?"

"_Yessss_," Jeff hissed, throwing his head back. The slow strokes were gone from his repertoire, replaced by a rough, punishing pace that was making him practically melt into the chair.

A few moments later, Jeff spilled hard into his palm with a throaty groan. The muscles in his legs tensed and relaxed, and his head flopped backward like it was too much effort to keep his neck straight anymore. His cock twitched afterward, but remained semi-erect against his leg.

Nick handed him a box of tissues off the nightstand. "You can shower if you want."

"Alone?" Jeff quipped. His tone was light, joking, but Hodges could tell he'd meant the question.

"Alone," Nick told him. And that was that. Jeff hazarded one last glance at Hodges before tucking himself back in and leaving the room. At the sound of the guest bathroom door closing, they knew he'd taken up Nick's offer.

* * *

The next morning, Greg woke up with a splitting headache. The previous night's events came rushing back to him in a long, visceral string of images that were almost more overwhelming than the headache itself.

There had been drinking... sex (lots of sex)... and then there had been Jeff.

With a weary yawn, he rolled over in bed. Both Nick and Hodges were still asleep. Careful not to wake them, he dressed quietly, then crept into the bathroom and popped an Aspirin to help with the pain. Knowing that Jeff was still in the apartment was a strange feeling. He had been a voyeur to many things last night, the most outrageous of which being Greg in a cheerleader costume.

Jeff was... a problem. He was attractive, and cocky in all the right ways. He was the kind of guy Greg would have hooked up with when he first came to Vegas. The kind of guy that hung out in dingy bars because his band played there sometimes. Hodges mentioned once that Jeff used to be in a band. Didn't they realize that Greg had a thing for musicians?

Greg was exaggerating, of course. He'd never make a move on another guy, no matter how attractive he was. He had ample opportunity to do so last night, and he hadn't. Nor had Nick or Hodges. It would have been crossing a line; breaking an unspoken boundary between the three of them.

When Greg wandered out into the living room, he found it empty. Same with the guest room and the bathroom. He realized, with a sigh, that Jeff must have left early that morning. It wasn't until he headed into the kitchen for some breakfast that he noticed a note on the counter in rough, scrawled handwriting.

_Nick, Greg and David, _

_Thank you for letting me stay with you. I want to apologize for intruding on your birthday plans, Nick. It wasn't my intention, and for that, I'm sorry. But given what transpired when you brought me home, surely you understand that I can't regret a single moment of my time here._

_After my cousin's wedding today, I'm flying back home. I guess, in this case, that old saying is true... what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. _

_Unless any of you happen to be in LA sometime._

_- Jeff_

Greg poured himself a bowl of cereal and read the letter over once more. Jeff wasn't so bad. Whatever residual weirdness lingered between him and Hodges from LA seemed trivial after all this time. Nonetheless, he'd show the others the letter when they woke up. If Hodges wanted to burn it, or make it into a paper airplane and toss is out the window, he could go right ahead. What mattered was how David felt, and what he had to say about all this.

There hadn't been much discussion last night. Or _any_ discussion, really. After watching the redhead's little show, the three of them had all been a bit too drained for an emotionally taxing conversation and had simply gone to bed.

But Greg knew that conversation was looming on the horizon. It was only a matter of time. Nick and Hodges were going to have words, he could feel it. He just hoped he could contain the fallout.


	13. Chapter 13

The conversation Greg had been dreading that morning never came. Nick received a sudden phone call from Grissom and had to scramble off to a scene. Apparently a mass grave had been discovered outside Henderson, and the day shift was tapped out. Both Nick and Warrick were the only CSIs with unused overtime and had been summoned to assist.

Nick's departure should have woken Hodges. It was already past noon. But the trace technician had yet to leave the bedroom. The door was cracked, but the lights remained off.

Greg supposed there was no reason for David to get up. He was probably hung over, and any discussion of _The Jeff Incident_ _(_as Greg began referring to it in his mind) would have to wait until Nick returned anyway. The Texan had been such an integral part of the whole thing, there was no point discussing it without him. Still, it was very unlike Hodges to sleep late. Greg could only pretend to be interested in the television for so long before padding over to the bedroom door and gently pushing it open.

"David, are you awake?"

Hodges was laying on his side, covers pulled up snugly around his neck. He let out an affirming grunt.

"Jeff's gone, you know. Left early this morning. And from the sound of that phone call, Nick will probably be gone all day," Greg explained, pressing inside the room. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and switched on the lamp next to the bed.

Hodges squinted against the sudden brightness and yanked the covers up over his head.

The young CSI could barely keep from rolling his eyes. "Alright, either you've turned into a bat or you aren't interested in talking."

There was a tentative rustling under the covers. A moment later, David poked his head out again. "It's my day off. Can't I just sleep?"

"_All day_?" Greg asked with a frown. "Look, if you want to forget about last night, then let's do something. Let me take you out for lunch. I know a nice little sushi place nearby. We can walk there, just the two of us."

Slowly, Hodges propped himself up on his elbows. The blankets fell away around his shoulders, revealing the smooth expanse of skin at his neck. Greg realized that he was probably still naked. None of them had bothered to dress before falling asleep.

"I can't forget," said David, in a very small voice.

Greg sighed, wanting to kick himself for having brought up the subject in the first place. Maybe if he just said his piece, Hodges would stop thinking about it and they could enjoy a nice day together.

"For what it's worth," Greg told the other man, "I don't think Nick should have invited him in."

Hodges pushed himself up further, now at eye level with Greg. There was a strange look in his eyes, something that the young CSI couldn't make sense of. "Funny," said David. "You didn't look too upset once he pulled out his cock." There was a biting edge to the remark that left Greg speechless. "You were all but drooling over it, I saw the look on your face."

Greg rose to his feet abruptly. His instinct was to defend himself—after all, he'd only been looking, the same as the others. So what if he'd let himself wonder what the rest of the man's body looked like under his clothes? So what if he'd been curious what that cock might feel like inside him? Fantasizing was harmless, he'd never act on those thoughts.

"You won't even deny it?" Hodges asked after a moment. He sounded surprised.

"No."

That wasn't the answer the trace technician was expecting. Greg didn't understand—did Hodges _want_ him to deny it? Did he want him to lie?

"Would you have let him fuck you?" Hodges asked flatly.

Greg could barely believe his ears. He suddenly wished Nick were there to defend him. "_What the hell_, David?" he exclaimed.

"Answer the question." Hodges was oddly calm. The cruel expression on his face was sending Greg spinning out of control. Something told him this sudden paranoia wasn't simply borne out of a look he'd seen on Greg's face the previous night.

"You _actually_ think I'm a slut, don't you?" Greg asked, the sudden realization dawning on him. "When you or Nick would say that to me in bed, I thought we were only joking around. But maybe that's really how you feel, and you just never had the balls to tell me."

Hodges didn't say anything. He didn't flinch, didn't betray any hint of emotion on his face. And that was just as damning as if he'd said yes.

"Fuck you!" Greg snarled. He would never have let Jeff touch him—not unless Nick and Hodges said it was okay. And he hadn't exactly been counting on that. If that made him a slut, then so be it. David had no right to judge him.

Greg's raised voice had apparently piqued Little Kobe's interest; the smoky-coloured cat strolled in through the doorway, tail high in the air. He padded over to the bed and hopped onto the sheets at David's feet.

Greg suddenly couldn't stand his apartment anymore. It felt so small, like the walls were closing in on him. "You can spend the day alone and miserable for all I care," he said spitefully, snatching his jacket off the dresser. He didn't even wait to see David's reaction; he was out of the room in a heartbeat, digging around in his pocket for his car keys.

He yanked open the apartment door, intending to storm out and slam it behind him without another thought. But something made him pause, his fingers tight around the door handle.

He was waiting to see if Hodges would follow, would chase after him and insist that he stay. When, after a moment, it became clear that David was not going to to do this, Greg's anger returned, even more vicious than before.

When he did finally slam the door behind him, the sound echoed through the hallway like a gunshot.

* * *

"Nick? It's me," Greg spoke into the receiver. The other CSI's phone had gone to voice mail—he was probably still at the crime scene in Henderson. "You need to deal with David. This whole Jeff thing has really fucked with him. He lashed out at me, and I just... I can't be around him right now. I'm keeping my distance from the apartment. Call me back when you get a minute."

Greg ended the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He was sitting inside his Denali, parked in front of a large apartment complex. He hadn't been out there in a long time. Not since before everything started with Nick. But now, after Jeff, after Hodges blowing up at him... the place had popped into his mind and he couldn't help himself.

He remembered the apartment number so well. 219. The 9 was always falling off, like the maintenance guy could never find the right screws to keep it fixed in place. As Greg scaled the steps toward the second story apartment, he found it laying on the ground at his feet and wanted to roll his eyes.

Some things never changed.

He knocked quietly, scooping up the metal number in his hand.

The door swung open to reveal a petite Indian girl in a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. Her hair was pulled up into a bun, but a few shorter pieces fell loose around her face. She peered at her visitor through a familiar pair of black cat's eye glasses.

"Greg?" she asked, looking him over in surprise. "Shite, what happened to your hair? It looks almost normal."

"Nice to see you too, Sanvi," he said with a grin. "Here's your 9." Greg handed her the number. "It was on the floor again."

"This bloody thing," she groaned, tossing it onto the nearby kitchen table. She opened the door and gestured for Greg to come inside.

Greg stepped into the small living room, which looked exactly as he remembered it. "Sorry to drop in on you like this, I probably should have called..."

Sanvi waved off the notion with a shake of her hand. "Gods, I haven't seen you in the better part of a year now, yeah? How the hell are you?"

"I got promoted. Finally moved out of the lab, just like I said I would."

The Indian girl smiled. "Right on. So does that make you a cop now?"

"A CSI, actually. "

Sanvi frowned, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. "You sure it's not a problem for you, coming here?"

"I guess that means you're still selling?" Greg had hoped that would be the case, but he hadn't spoken to Sanvi in so long; there was no telling what might have changed in her life.

"I am indeed. Gotta put myself through school somehow," she replied with a wink.

"Still at WLVU?" Greg asked. Last time he checked, Sanvi had been working on a degree in biochemistry.

She nodded. "I'm finally in my last semester. Hopefully once I graduate, I can settle into a nice, secure career and stop selling weed to hooligans like you." Sanvi cast her old friend a playful glare.

Greg laughed, settling down on the sofa. He leaned back into the leather with his hands behind his head. "Yeah right. You're the biggest stoner I know." He quirked his eyebrow at a large bong sitting on the coffee table in front of them in support of his case.

"Yeah, yeah. You were quite a stoner yourself once, if memory serves."

Inwardly, Greg couldn't help but grimace. If Nick ever found out about that part of his past, no doubt he'd be in for a long lecture. Not to mention he'd sworn to Hodges once that he most definitely was _not_ a stoner... and well, that hadn't exactly been a lie. Greg had been forced to all but stop ever since becoming a CSI—he couldn't risk it turning up on his drug test. But Sanvi was right. There was a time in his life when he was at her apartment several times a week buying from her.

"Man, it's almost too good to be true, you just showing up out of the blue like this," she went on, grabbing the bong off the coffee table. "Everyone's been asking about you. Frankie, Kami, Clay... they wanted to know if you were still even in Vegas. I didn't know what to tell them."

"Oh." Greg's chest tightened with guilt. He had no idea the others were asking after him. "Well," he began, "when I got the DNA job, I knew I'd have to be careful, but when I moved up to CSI a lot of things changed. I may not be a cop myself, but I do work closely with them. I just figured it was a lot safer this way. For everybody."

Sanvi nodded. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Greg. I understand."

"I've also been seeing someone. Actually, _two_ people... together. Kind of like a polyamory type thing. I think that's what it's called, right? Anyway, one of them isn't exactly open to this kind of thing. Weed, I mean."

"Greg!" She whacked him on the arm from the nearby chair. "_Two_ people?" She looked impressed. "Are they both men?"

"Yeah, and they're both my co-workers."

"No kidding," she mused, packing the bong with a fresh bowl. "You're even more devious than I remember." Greg knew that was definitely a compliment coming from Sanvi. "Hey, I think you deserve a little freebie for that, yeah?" She handed him the freshly-packed bong and seized a lighter off the table.

That was an offer Greg wasn't about to turn down. He brought the bong to his lips, lighting the generous amount of herb inside the bowl. He watched as the smoke flowed into the chamber and inhaled deeply, listening to the water bubble as he took the hit deep into his lungs.

"Jesus," he said, handing it back to Sanvi. She lit the bong a second time and took a hit of her own.

After a moment, Greg finally exhaled, but there wasn't much smoke left to see. He'd absorbed most of it into his lungs. "Is that the same stuff you used to get?" he asked, fighting back a cough. He couldn't recall it being so strong.

"Nah, this is much better," she told him. Greg could definitely believe that was true. He was starting to feel its effects already. "You gonna stay for a while? We should hang out a bit before you take off for another year."

Greg laughed. "Yeah, I'd like that. I've got nowhere to be today."

They spent the next couple of hours catching up. Greg filled his old friend in about both Nick and Hodges, sparing only the goriest of details about their relationship. He was grateful for an outsider to talk to about it all—someone who didn't know either Nick or Hodges, and who would give him some straightforward, objective advice.

Sanvi had always been good about that. Greg had always speculated that she was much smarter than him. She'd been selling herself short dealing drugs, but that was only temporary, like she'd said. Sanvi had a bright future in biochemistry, and would probably land a fancy job somewhere in the private sector and end up earning twice as much as him.

They'd met at Stanford, but hadn't really gotten to know each other until they both ended up in Vegas. Though she was born in the UK, she too had grown up in California, and reminded Greg of a much different part of his life.

By late afternoon, they'd smoked another couple of bowls and had regressed into recounting a list of funny moments that had taken place inside Sanvi's apartment.

"Remember the time Frankie tried to make us sit through _Seabiscuit _and you fell asleep with that cup of coffee in your lap?" Greg asked. He broke down into a bought of side-splitting laughter picturing the incident in his mind. "You didn't spill a single drop, we couldn't believe it."

Sanvi exhaled a large cloud of smoke and nearly choked on her snort of laughter. "Then when I woke up and took a sip of it, the thing was mysteriously full of liquor."

"Definitely had nothing to do with that."

"I didn't buy that excuse then, and I don't buy it now," she said with a grin. "I can always tell when you're lying."

Greg was about to protest, but he was cut off by the sounds of _Feel Like Makin' Love _emanating from his back pocket_. _

"Nice ringtone," Sanvi joked, watching the CSI fish out his phone. "Anything important?"

Greg stared at the small picture of his lover that flashed on the screen beneath Nick's name. Nick must have heard his voice mail and was finally getting back to him. But for some reason, Greg couldn't bring himself to answer the call. Part of it was not wanting to have to lie about where he was. The other part... well, he didn't quite know. If David had already spoken to Nick, which he may very well have, then a game of twenty questions would be in order and Greg couldn't quite face that kind of interrogation from the Texan while he was high.

The young CSI set his phone down on the coffee table and watched it continue to ring. He could feel Sanvi's eyes on him, but if she was curious about his actions, she kept quiet. After a moment, the ringtone ceased and the call went to voice mail.

"Given my on-again-off-again thing with Frankie—which is currently off, by the way—I'm in no position to judge. But if that was one of your guys, you won't solve anything by running away."

Greg glanced up from the phone, meeting his friend's gaze through her signature pair of cat's eye glasses. "Yeah," he admitted. "I know."

"That's why you came to visit me today, isn't it? You were trying to run away from them," she speculated. Greg made no move to deny it. "Clever," she said. "No need to leave Vegas when, instead, you can come over here and go straight back in time." The Indian girl set the bong down on the table and contemplated her old friend, who'd taken to staring at the floor. "Hey, no harm done. I'm just glad to see you."

"I'm sorry, Sanvi. It shouldn't have taken something like this for me to visit. I could have called." There were a lot of things Greg could have done; calling involved the least amount of effort, and he hadn't even managed that. "I missed you. I've been busy, but that's no excuse."

Sanvi merely shrugged. She wasn't fazed. There were few things that ever got her down, which Greg admired. "Well, as my mum used to say—"

"Just keep your head above water."

Her dark eyes lit up from behind thick lenses. "You remembered."

Greg smiled. "I did."

"You know, you're welcome to stay over. I don't know how bad things are at home, but if you're not ready to face them yet, you can crash here. I'll even pull out the futon for you, like old times."

"Are you sure?" Greg felt like it was too much to ask, given that he'd just admitted to ignoring his friend for almost a year.

"Life's too short for grudges," said Sanvi. "You're here now, and you're still my friend, whether you're a busy cop with two boyfriends or the silly punk I met at Stanford."

Greg couldn't keep the smile off his face. With everything going on with Nick and Hodges, it was nice to remember a part of his life that wasn't so complicated.

"I'm a CSI, not a cop..." he teased.

She waved an exasperated hand his way. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The two of them shared a good-natured look, and that was all it took to make Greg feel better again.


	14. Chapter 14

Nick had spent so long at the scene in Henderson that by the time he was done processing, he'd already pulled a double shift. It was late evening; the sun had already set in the sky. Nick's jumpsuit was covered in dirt and all he really wanted to do was go home and take a shower.

"Hey, Grissom just called," said Warrick, strolling over to his friend. "He told us to go home and get some sleep."

A comforting wave of relief washed over Nick. The last thing he wanted was to suffer through another shift. "Will grave be okay without us?"

"He says they'll manage, so I'm gonna head out before he changes his mind. See you tomorrow night," said Warrick, nodding as he left.

Nick waved, watching his colleague hop into his truck and drive off. After packing up his kit and stowing it safely inside his trunk, Nick decided to do the same.

By the time he reached his apartment, he was beyond exhausted. A double shift always took a lot out of him. He made a beeline for the shower, but paused as he was stripping off his jumpsuit, realizing that he hadn't had the chance to check his phone since they'd begun excavating the grave.

He had two voice mails; one from Greg, and one from David. Greg's was first. Nick ran the shower as he listened to the message, wondering idly what could have happened between his two lovers to make Greg sound so upset. He and Hodges rarely ever fought—at least, not seriously. This sounded different. Nick just knew it had something to do with Jeff.

Next up was David's message. The time stamp was several hours after Greg's. Nick let the message play on speaker phone as he tossed his dirty jumpsuit into the laundry basket.

"I should be mad at you, Stokes. I have every right to be," Hodges began, not bothering to say hello before starting into his diatribe. "If it'd been anyone other than Jeff, I might have even appreciated your nerve..." He gave a soft chuckle. "Look, I'm trying to get over this whole thing. I think the fact that I'm calling you should be proof enough of that. But this morning, when Greg and I tried to talk about it, I said something to him that I probably shouldn't have and he took off. Just... let me know when you're finished with your scene. We should speak in person."

The Texan hopped into the shower, mulling over David's words. His mind was running itself in circles wondering what Hodges possibly could have said to chase Greg off like that. By the time he'd stepped out of the water and wrapped a towel around his waist, he was no closer to the answer.

Sighing, Nick scooped up his phone off the counter and dialed Greg's number. Both Greg and Hodges likely had work in a couple hours, so if they didn't arrange to meet up now, Nick would have to wait until morning to see either one of them.

Greg's phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. It didn't make sense. He'd _asked_ Nick to call him—why wasn't he picking up? Nick decided against leaving a voice mail, vowing to try back again in a little while.

After towelling himself dry, he tossed on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, intending to stop by Greg's place. If he was lucky, he could catch David before he left for work. Maybe the grey-haired man might have some idea where Greg had run off to. He did seem to have more insight into Greg's secrets than the Texan ever had.

* * *

David had spent most of the day lounging in bed, trying to get in another few hours of sleep before work that night. Now that the sun had set, he'd relocated to the small balcony with a cigarette and a hot cup of coffee.

Greg's small patio had a nice view of Vegas. His apartment was far enough away from the strip to avoid the noise and commotion, but the glowing lights were still visible from the balcony. After living in Vegas for several years now, it was easy to overlook the city's charm. But especially at night, David still considered the lights of the strip as beautiful as ever.

It was there, out on the patio, that David heard the apartment door open. A glance through the large, sliding door told him that it was Nick, not Greg, returning home. That piqued his interest. He hadn't tried to make contact with Greg since the Norwegian stormed out earlier that day. The truth was, David wasn't ready to face him. Nick, however, he was glad to see.

He finished up his cigarette and slipped back inside the living room. "You're back. How did it go?" he asked, watching the CSI grab himself a beer from the fridge.

Nick shrugged. "It was a long day," he stated simply, taking a swig and then setting the drink down on the kitchen counter. The next thing Hodges knew, the other man had crossed the room and pulled him into a warm embrace.

"I got your message," Nick told him, speaking softly into David's ear. His voice was quiet, reserved. "I'm so sorry, David. Those decisions I made last night... I risked betraying your trust for a stupid, cheap thrill and it was wrong."

Hodges swallowed dryly. "Nick..."

Nick pulled back, but kept a gentle hold on his lover's shoulders. He wanted to look the other man in the eye. "If I messed things up between us, I'll take full responsibility." The sincerity with which he spoke was overwhelming. One thing was clear; the Texan cared deeply for him. Enough to pour his heart out like this, and to admit aloud his own mistakes. Hodges knew that wasn't easy for any man, but then again, Nick had always been a cut above other men, hadn't he?

David knew that the CSI would never do anything to hurt him on purpose. Nick was the most honest, genuine person he'd ever met in his life. They would be silly to let a tiny error in judgement ruin what they had between them.

"You didn't mess things up, Nick." He brought a hand up to cup the side of the man's face. "I love you. Maybe I don't say that enough," David admitted.

A smile spread across Nick's face. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that." He pulled David's hand into his own and placed a chaste kiss on the trace technician's fingertips.

A hot blush crept up David's neck at the touch. He cleared his throat, trying to stay focused on the conversation. "I think," he went on, "that for future reference, if we ever bring another person into our bedroom again, there should be a discussion first."

"Agreed," said Nick. He truly seemed apologetic for any grief his actions had caused on David's part. "Not that I can imagine that happening anytime soon."

That much Hodges could agree with. "Have you spoken to Greg?" he asked, thoughts of their younger lover suddenly crossing his mind.

Nick shook his head. "I tried calling but he never picked up." Nick explained the voice mail that Greg had left him earlier that morning. "What happened between you two after I left?"

David was afraid they might get around to that topic. He frowned, flopping down onto the sofa. "I may have called him out on how excited he got watching Jeff..." He trailed off, making sheep eyes at the older man, who wasn't exactly pleased. "You probably didn't notice it, but I was right next to him, and I did. I guess I was... I don't know, hurt? Angry?" He folded his arms over his chest defensively. "Look, I _have _been known to be a dick sometimes."

The Texan's only reaction was a look of mild confusion. "That's all it was? You called him out on a boner and he just took off?"

"Not quite." Hodges wished he didn't have to explain what happened after that, but Nick needed to know. "He accused me of thinking he was a slut, and I was stupid about it. I just sat there and didn't say anything. That's what set him off."

Nick folded down next to Hodges on the couch, looking rather deflated. "The first time I ever said that to him in bed, I think it made him self-conscious," Nick explained, remembering a time before David had come into the picture. "When I told him I hadn't meant it seriously, he was fine. I never pried into it any further. I figured if he wanted to tell me, he would. But Greg's good at hiding things. We both know that."

"Yeah," said Hodges, instantly feeling guilty about the joint he and Greg had smoked several weeks ago without Nick's knowledge.

"Has he ever mentioned any of the people he's been with in the past?" the Texan asked. "I think he finds it easier sharing things with you, like he thinks I'm going to judge him or something." Nick's face fell as he spoke the words.

David shook his head. He'd never been privy to that information—not that he hadn't been curious. "Greg was big into the club scene for a while. I know he hooked up with people, but how many, and what kind, I have no idea."

Nick pondered that thought for some time, letting a long silence settle in around them. He was usually easy to read, but Hodges was having a tough time puzzling out the look on his face.

"Maybe he'd been called a slut before. It might explain why that one word seemed to cut him so deeply," Nick speculated.

Hodges frowned. "Then why would he let us call him that in bed all this time?"

"It's part of the foreplay. He knows we're not serious."

David released a deep sigh, holding his head in his hands. This was all his fault. "I drove him away."

"Hey." Nick placed his hand between the grey-haired man's shoulder blades, gently tracing the curve of his spine. "He'll come back, David."

Hodges didn't feel like that was enough. He wanted to do something, but he had to be at the lab in an hour. "Is he working tonight?" Hodges wondered aloud. "I mean, if I don't see him at the lab, shouldn't we try looking for him?"

"I wouldn't have the faintest idea where to start. Would you?" Nick asked with an arch of his brow.

"No," Hodges realized in defeat. "I wouldn't."

Maybe neither one of them knew Greg Sanders as well as they'd thought.

* * *

David's shift had barely started and he was already up to his elbows in work. Catherine had dumped a whole bunch of fabric samples on him, and not two minutes later, Sara had stopped by with some paint chips from her hit and run.

He was processing as quickly as he could without being careless, but if there was one thing Hodges hated above all else, it was being rushed in his work. None of his colleagues gave the trace lab the respect it deserved. He couldn't count the number of times his findings had breathed life into a cold case, or had led to a conviction in the courtroom. Yet his discipline remained deeply undervalued. DNA really _did_ get all the glory. Maybe that was part of why he'd been so jealous of Greg in the beginning.

And yet that hadn't stopped David from being wildly attracted to him.

Thinking about Greg made the grey-haired man's jaw clench involuntarily. Hodges was worried. He hadn't seen the other man at the lab yet that night. If he was out at a scene somewhere, no one had mentioned it.

All David could do was dive back into his work, hoping that by staying occupied, he could keep his worries at bay. And indeed, it worked for a while. The mundane task of sorting through Catherine's fabric samples kept him busy for almost an hour as he examined each one under his microscope, hoping to identify its unique characteristics.

It wasn't until almost two in the morning that he finally caught sight of Greg. The Norwegian had clearly just arrived at work; he had a very haphazard look about him as he rushed past the trace lab and ducked into the nearby locker room.

Hodges' eyes followed his lover, and it wasn't long before his feet had a similar idea. Abandoning his microscope without a second thought, he traced Greg's footsteps into the locker room. The CSI was fumbling around inside his bag.

"Greg?"

The young man spun around in alarm. "David..." he breathed, sounding relieved to see his lover's face. There was no trace of the anger that had caused him to flee the apartment that morning. "Thank God it's you. I need your help."

What on earth had Greg so tense? David's mind floundered over that thought as he watched the other man retrieve a tiny plastic bottle from his bag.

"Eye drops?" Hodges asked, scrutinizing the strange item. Greg didn't wear contacts, and he never complained about having dry eyes. Something was definitely up.

Greg unscrewed the cap and handed Hodges the bottle. "Please, can you put them in for me? I'm awful at this."

The grey-haired man frowned, but accepted the tiny bottle. "What's going on?" he probed, waiting for an answer first.

"Look, I fucked up, okay? I got really high," he admitted, purposefully avoiding the other man's gaze. "I was _supposed _to have the night off. But wouldn't you know it, Grissom called me in because we're down Nick and Warrick."

The way Greg had shuffled past the trace lab, eyes fixed on the ground; his dishevelled appearance; the way he'd nearly jumped out of his skin when Hodges said his name. These tiny, mostly overlooked details were suddenly thrust into perspective.

"_Are you_ _out of your mind_?" Hodges hissed under his breath. Smoking a joint in the safety and comfort of their own apartment was one thing, but being high at work? This was stupid, even for Greg. "Look at me," Hodges demanded. He grabbed his lover by the chin and tilted his face toward the light. Greg's eyes were noticeably bloodshot.

"The eye drops, David. _Please_," he implored. His voice had taken on a rather desperate pitch. "I've got a 419 right now, and I can't fuck this up."

Hodges had half a mind to walk out of the room and leave Greg to deal with this mess on his own. That would certainly teach him a lesson. But the anxiety twisting Greg's features was too raw to ignore.

"Don't move. Don't even blink," Hodges ordered, using his thumb and forefinger to hold each of Greg's eyes open. One at a time, he squeezed a drop of liquid into each eye. Greg yanked his face out of David's hand when it was done, blinking furiously at the odd sensation.

Hodges all but threw the bottle back at him. When he spoke, his voice was a dangerous whisper. "You could lose your job over this. Are you even capable of processing a scene right now?"

Greg scowled. "I wouldn't have come in if I couldn't do my job." He zipped up his bag and tossed it into his locker, refusing to look the other man in the eye.

"Are you really willing to compromise your case over this? Anything you collect could be thrown out in court."

"So long as no one finds out, I'm not compromising anything," the CSI reasoned, fastening his combination lock. "Believe it or not, I can handle this."

Greg was only worried about his secret being discovered—not about working under the influence. That was what worried Hodges the most. What had brought this on? He wondered if their fight had anything to do with it. Greg had obviously felt the need to self-medicate, and despite his relatively innocuous choice of drug, it was still illegal, and he'd let it follow him to work.

"And what am I supposed to tell Nick?" David could only imagine how the Texan would react to all of this.

"Nothing. Nick doesn't need to know."

David could barely contain his outrage. "He doesn't deserve to be lied to like this! Keep shutting him out and one day he's just going to walk away. I hope you realize that."

There was a warning look in Greg's eyes. "Stay out of this, David," he advised.

In that moment, Hodges became acutely aware of the distance between them. Despite their close quarters, they might as well have been standing miles apart.

"Don't shut me out too," David pleaded, suddenly feeling two feet tall. He didn't know what else to say. Greg's mind was already made up about working his case. Hodges would only be wasting his time trying to convince the CSI that it was a bad idea. Whatever consequences came to pass—if any—they would be Greg's to bear.

"I've gotta get to my scene," Greg replied, brushing past the grey-haired man. "I'll call you later."

Hodges caught the scent of him as he passed—the clean smell of his aftershave and that tiny hint of cologne he sometimes wore. It stirred his senses in a way that little else could, and made Greg's absence that day hurt all the more.

Hodges at least knew that his lover was in one piece; in their line of work, that was something. But whether Greg was actually _okay... _that remained to be seen.


End file.
